


Stargazer

by Keltoi



Category: Destiny (Video Games), The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 55
Words: 459,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27060847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keltoi/pseuds/Keltoi
Summary: "Every end crawls from the same pit, rising from the schism to swallow matter, Light and life. It cannot be stopped, but here, it can be slowed."
Comments: 22
Kudos: 63





	1. Discovery I

"Wish for tea?"

Wishing is a dangerous thing, something he has had far too much experience with in his long years, yet he smiled and shook his head. "Thank you, but no, I will not be long."

The Fallen, who would have perhaps been a Vandal but for the long robes of a scribe and the royal colours of the Reef, closed his outer eyes and left the Warlock to his records.

The scribe returned hours later with refreshments, and the human smiled sheepishly. The nitrogen tea was scalding hot, but the sensation was far away from the Warlock's detached attention. His finger followed the words of the datapad, his lips mouthing them, and his pale eyes twinkled with interest.

_... Exodus Prime..._

The scribe, seeing the hint of a smile, chirped quietly. "Find sought-thought?"

For a moment, the Warlock allowed himself to admire the quality of the translator. It was undeniably not human, or even neohuman, but like he had with Variks, it was something clear and comprehensible. The clicks and barks are difficult to avoid, even with a vocal synth, but understanding is all that matters. The Awoken don't seem to mind.

"I have," the Warlock answered. "Thank you for allowing me the oppurtunity."

The Fallen scribe closed his outer eyes once more. A polite gesture, the Warlock knew. "I have next-inherit and guard work of Master Ives. Is my honour-task, yes?"

"I understand."

* * *

"Hello, Failsafe," the Warlock greeted softly. He sat by the wall of the AI's mainframe. It has been some time he was here last. Nessus is far removed from the current troubles humanity faces.

"Captain! I received word of the Cayde Unit's life status!" ("Donezo.")

It hit him like a quick punch to the abdomen, and the Warlock found it tougher to breathe. "Yes. He's... gone."

"Please let me know if there is anything I can do to accelerate and conclude your grief process!" ("'Cause I'm fine.") "As the AI of Exodus Black, I experienced the death of every single one of my crewmembers! I hypothesized that the more loss one has suffered, the easier subsequent losses become! Field research has proven my hypothesis false! Losing Cayde makes me feel... f-f-feel... f-f-f-feel..." ("AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.") "I feel terrible!"

He took a deep breath and welcomed the burst of support in the back of his mind, the warmth in his hand. His Ghost has always been vigilant. "Actually, there is something I wanted..."

"What is it?" ("Another chore. Joy.")

"What do you know of the _Exodus Prime_?"

He expected Failsafe to cheerfully give him everything he needed to know. He never anticipated what felt like all that was left of the _Exodus Black_ freezing up.

Failsafe resumed her normal functions moments later, but the pause is noticed. "I apologize, but my databanks are experiencing difficulty. I'm afraid information regarding your request is simply inaccessible!" ("We're under orders.")

The Warlock frowned thoughtfully. "Who's orders?"

"I am not authorised to say!" ("A Warmind.")

"Maybe Zavala's right," the Ghost said, manifesting beside the Guardian. "Rasputin causes trouble everywhere he's involved."

But the Warlock wasn't deterred. "If there's records of it in the Vestian Cryptarchy, then there will be other sources." He stands up.

"I hope you find what you find what you're looking for!" Failsafe happily told him. "Maybe Captains Lennox and Jakson can assist you! Together, a fireteam never loses!" ("Except when they do.")

The Warlock's stance faltered. This one felt like a Cabal is hammering the breath out of him with its bare fists. "I... I'm afraid that won't happen any longer, Failsafe."

"What do you mean? Please elaborate!"

"We have... parted ways," he admited. It's a hefty weight, especially when he acknowledged it out loud.

"I am sorry to hear that!" ("No news like bad news.")

"As am I. I bid you farewell."

* * *

"Well, that was a waste of time." His Ghost finally said, once they are out of the centaur's orbit. The Galliot around them purred like a living beast, a swift bird of prey still searching for skiffs and harvesters to rip apart. It is one of the greatest gifts he has ever received, but the cost was far higher than he would have willingly paid.

"On the contrary, I think we have learned much."

His Ghost gave him a disbelieving look. "We barely talked with her for two minutes, and you tell me we got what we came for?"

"No. But she has put us on the right path."

"Oh, I can't wait to see how this pans out."

* * *

There is no doubt in the Warlock's mind that the Cryptarchy of the Last City would have records holding further information on the topic, but those gates have been closed to him.

Instead, he turned to Mars. If nothing else, he might dig up something in the Futurescape.

Ana intercepted him before he could enter the Mindlab. It has been two years and she looks as busy as ever. He, on the other hand, is just tired.

"I heard what went down," she told him. "I'm sorry. But you're probably sick of hearing that."

The Warlock shrugged. "I could do without the reminder."

"Then sorry for reminding you. Now, what are yo doing here? Not that Red and I don't like you, but isn't there something with apocalyptic power for you to fight?"

"Jaxson has that covered."

"He's good at that."

"Titans usually are. Their obtuse methods has its uses."

The Hunter smiled. "So, what are you here for?"

"I'd like to talk to 'Red'. There's a topic I've been investigating and I've been led to believe he may have the answers I seek."

* * *

"What is the _Exodus Prime_?"

::Gone. Beyond.::

"Gone?"

::Everything is gone.::

"But the Exodus Prime, where has it gone beyond?"

::Beyond my sight.::

"That's... Wow, okay. Thank you."

* * *

"What's your interest?"

The Warlock spared his Ghost a a glance. "I'm just curious."

She wasn't finished, though. "No one's heard of it. Even I haven't heard of any _Exodus Prime_ , and I've been inside more Golden Age installations than I can count."

"Project Amrita came after it."

"What?"

"The _Yang Liwei_. Mara's ship. The _Exodus Green_."

"So..."

The Warlock smiled apologetically. "Sorry. Not explaining very well, am I? The _Yang Liwei_ and every other ship of Project Amrita were armed to the teeth. They weren't the first to attempt to leave Sol. The ones before just disappeared, right off the map, communication lines cut."

"And?"

"Right, you know about the _Exodus Black_? An attempt to colonise Kepler-186. The _Exodus Green_ was meant for the same thing, to live outside of the Traveler's gaze. Well, I think the _Exodus Prime_ was the first, the one we lost."

"What's your hypothesis?"

"Anything could have happened. Maybe the Hive found it, or the Cabal, in which case it's truly gone."

"But you think otherwise."

"No, I _hope_ otherwise. And yet, it's the worst case scenario. If there's any chance it's any way like the Awoken and their Distributary, then it's a weapon for the Hive to use. We already have enough trouble with the Dreaming City. Imagine they found it, a stranded pocket universe. It would be a kill battery in which they could amass infinite tribute and power."

"Oh. That isn't good."

The Warlock agreed wholeheartedly.

His Ghost flexed her shell. "What do we do?"

"We need to find it."

"And then?"

"Keep it safe from the Enemy's hands."


	2. Discovery II

"He-hey, brother. Been waitin' for your call. Finally ready to have us a talk?"

The Warlock wasn't surprised. "Where?"

"Ever been to a little place called Wrong End? On Herculina."

The Reef? Interesting. "I'll be there."

* * *

Wrong End was a quaint little bar inside a quaint little terraformed habitat. It was mostly Reefborn inside, but there was a couple of non-locals around. Lightbearers and Dead Orbit scavengers. The Warlock kept his hand near his cannon. Just to be safe.

The Drifter saved them a booth, sipping from an archaic glass wine bottle and flipping his green coin. Neither said anything until the Warlock was seated.

"So, brother, what's the cause of all this bustle?" The Drifter's smile was wide and misleading. The half-sense of danger played havoc with the Warlock's nerves.

"I've come upon an alarming discovery."

"Lemme guess. You talked with the Man?"

The Warlock didn't say anything, but his cannon was all the answer needed.

The Drifter's smile grew wider. "Yeah, thought so. The Man with the Golden Gun. Damn. Thought he'd turn you to ash, for certain."

"And why would that be?"

"Oh, don't gimme that. You toe that line and you know it. Maybe he thinks you have a use, or maybe he fears you. Wouldn't know. So all this is because you had a chat with ol' Shin? What'd he tell you?"

" _Exodus Prime_. He said you've been there."

The Drifter's grin fell for a split-second. Then he laughed. "Warlocks, right? Everythin' under the sun knows about the strength of Titans, the skill of Hunters, but you folks... you scare me. Pickin' out everything of worth."

"What do you know?"

"Oh, not in me to spoil it. Our Martian friend will dog me to the end of my days. But I'll give you a hint. Cassini."

The Warlock stands up. "The _First Fleet_."

"That's the one. And hey, if you're planning on vacation, well... pack up SMART. And go alone. Last time I went far out, I... better left unsaid. Crews are dangerous. Don't bring no one."

"I understand," the Warlock left a small pile of Glimmer on the table. "Thanks."

"Anytime!" The Drifter called after him.

* * *

"He gives me the creeps," his Ghost shuddered.

"He's useful." The Warlock keyed in the co-ordinates to the Galliot's nav-com. "Nothing more."

"And when he stops being useful?"

"We cut him out of our lives."

"It's like the old days all over again."

* * *

The _First Fleet_ was a colossal cargo ship, another victim of the Collapse, left derelict in Saturn's rings. The Hive Dreadnaught, nearly on the opposite side of the Saturn's orbit, is only just twice the size of the Golden Age marvel.

The Warlock directed his Galliot into a landing bay, docked with mechanical claws reaching out to pierce the floor of the open hanger, and ventured out into the dead starship. Gravity and an internal atmosphere are completely absent. He pushed himself along with little pushes of Light while his Ghost watched over his oxygen supply.

The _First Fleet_ had already received its own share of scavengers, entire compartments picked clean. Even the cargo, mined ore from Ixion and a batch of construction Frames, have been salvaged for anything useful. The Warlock ignored that. His target is the captain's quarters.

As he studied the bulkhead door, locked shut, the Guardian put his palm against the Frame of the door and called on his Light, leashing it. It was a furious bull, all it wanted was to be let out to expend itself, but he controlled it. The Chaos Reach burned through solid plasteel, reinforced locks included

The Warlock pulled himself in and looked around. The room was barebones. Nothing but a bed and a computer terminal. Not even a mummified corpse. The captain must have died with his crew at the helm.

The Warlock held out his hand and his Ghost flew forward, hacking away at the terminal with beams of Light. "Give me a minute."

He nodded and looked back the way they had come. Something felt off. He attributed it to the silence. What was that Golden Age quote? "In space, no one can hear you scream."

"Thanks for the nightmares," his Ghost quipped. "Nearly finished. Aaaaaand... there. We have something."

She projected an image against the far plasteel wall, scrolling through different entries of the captain's logs. It stopped as highlighted words appeared before them.

 _... the_ Exodus Prime _underwent a pilgrimage with some four thousand crew and three million colonists, hailing from the Ishtar Terra, Arcadia quadrangle and North American Empire. Speaking openly here, it was one of our greatest hopes at the time. I remembered the launch as a kid. It is a shame we'll never know if it made it to Kepler-186 or not. At least, until the next_ Exodus-class _vessels reach it. Maybe we'll strike lucky and find out there's a bustling colony there. Or maybe we'll draw the short straw and find out something else cut it off._

_Something's bound to be out there._

_Cpt. Dryden Cor, logging off._

The Warlock reread it thrice, missing nothing. Then he mulled it over. "I was right. Kepler-186f."

"That's far. Years out."

"We can find a way around that."

"We're actually going?"

"Do we have any choice? We need to see what it's like. It could be a weapon for the Enemy just waiting to be picked up."

"Or a Hive nest."

"Yes, or that." The Warlock pushed himself out of the room. "We have to prepare for anything."

* * *

There are a number of methods of interplanetary travel. The Vex use timegates to go anywhere and anywhen throughout multiple alternate timelines. The Hive rip apart wounds in the flesh of reality. Both are quite beyond the Warlock. He has traveled through Vex installations and brought down Axis Minds, but he never strayed far from the certain path. He didn't want to end up like Praedyth. As for the Hive mode of transport, it requires a being saturated in Darkness with immense pull with the Sword Logic. As a being of Light, it is impossible.

Yet other methods remain. The Fallen and Cabal both arrived in Sol with technology beyond that of the Golden Age in many aspects, not least their warp engines. Breaking the speed of light is something even Clovis Bray fell short of.

The Warlock set a course for Earth. For London.

He walked those half melted streets and strode back in time. He had been mere hours old when Devils dropped from the sky. His Ghost had told him to run.

Now she stayed silent, hidden away. They used to talk more. Sundance's death shook them both to the core. It took everything the Scorn Barons had to make that single Devourer bullet, but what's to say it wouldn't happen again?

A broken Cabal warship laid in a grave of its own making, half-buried in the middle of the street. A few neighbouring buildings had collapsed on top of it.

"We need its warp drive," the Warlock said aloud. "Do we know what that looks like?"

"Not really," the Ghost answered. "But I can pull something from the Battle Network."

The alien frigate, much like the First Fleet, had been picked at by tech-vultures. They were lucky the Fallen hadn't finished with it. A brief display of Arc sent those Dregs scurrying.

"We best hurry." The Warlockw watched the retreating forms of the Dusk pirates. "They will return."

"With friends, yeah, I know." The Ghost started transmatting parts out of the disassembled core. "They really messed things up in here."

"Is it problematic?"

"No. Just annoying. Darn ether-guzzlers."

* * *

They did indeed come back with friends. The Warlock drew his cannon and started firing. Three, two Dregs and a Vandal, were cut down in the opening shots. Their leader, a mean-looking Captain with a bear pelt about his shoulders, barked out order. The rest pinned down the Guardian with a constant barrage of fire as he retreated into an abandoned café.

"Need help?" His Ghost asked, a small voice within his mind. She transmatted one onto his lap. The Warlock hefted the Zen Meteor and peeked out. A Wire Rifle nearly took his head off.

"Show me," the Guardian ordered. His Ghost immediately began highlighting the locations of his opponents on his helmet's HUD. He burst out of cover and took out the snipers first, even as a bolt of Arc tore through his energy shield and his leg. The Warlock grunted and shot down the Fallen responsible.

The Dregs, emboldened by his injury, converged on his position. The rifle forgotten, the Warlock's cannon roared continuously, each bark snuffing a life. By then he had slain a dozen or more, but it only further enticed their yet-living compatriots to press on. Fewer to share the spoils with, he supposed.

One Marauder materialized out of thin air and leapt at the Warlock. He channeled his Light to Blink a few paces away and then emptied the rest of the cannon's chamber into the Fallen's torso. A Dreg grabbed his arm, so he sent a thousand volts into it, vaporizing every drop of blood and ether inside it.

At last, the Captain, bellowing madly. It hefted twin blades in each of its four hands, all raised above the Warlock. The Guardian cut the pirate in two with a swift swipe of Chaos Reach.

Silence fell over the dead city once more, but the Warlock allowed a few more minutes to pass before he let his Ghost heal him.

"They nearly had you," she noted.

The Warlock shrugged. "It has been some time since I've fought alone."

"Then get better. Here on out, we're on our own."

* * *

The Galliot was an Awoken design, so he trusted that the Reefborn shipwrights could modify it to his specifications. In the meantime, the Warlock watched as a fireteam took down Fikrul for the umpteenth time on a monitor. Like Dûl Incaru, the Scorn Archon refused to stay dead.

"This must be what our enemies feel," the Warlock mused. "This frustration of dealing with an immortal foe."

"Not all of us are so lucky," Kalli said.

The Guardian shook his head slightly. "Not before, but now..."

"Now the Guardians flock to our shores, to take up our fight and defend my people. Some do not like it."

"And what of you?"

"It is what my Queen desires."

Ah. That's what it all came down to in the Reef. What Mara Sov wanted. What she planned. He didn't like it, but that wasn't why he came here in the first place. He only wanted to protect. The Awoken of the Reef had weathered a few storms too many and now their cobbled home was falling apart at the seams.

At least Zavala had seen sense at last. It only took the deaths of Cayde and...

The Guardian clenched his hand into a fist. If Kalli noticed, she didn't say a word. They gazed out into the purple-tinted skies of the Reef as the Awoken celebrated and mourned simultaneously.


	3. Discovery III

Their departure was unceremonious. All the Warlock did was tell a few select people not to expect him back anytime soon. Most of those were in the Reef or otherwise in the wilds of Sol, but he sent two messages via the VanNet to Ikora and Jaxson. Writing them felt like a true betrayal, but he needed to do this. Even if it meant abandoning any slim chance there was of returning home, he had to go.

The Warlock climbed into the Galliot and breathed out deeply. "This is it."

"Not many leave the system," his Ghost stated. "And for good reason. You're going to be disappointed."

"In all likelihood, I will be. But if there's even the slightest chance... We have to try. At the very least, we just have a look. If it's a Hive nest, we leave."

"Glad we agree on something." The Ghost spun her shell around. "Well, I'm excited. Or terrified. One or the other."

"Perhaps both?"

"I don't know about that. I'll figure it out soon."

"Tell me when you do."

* * *

The warp to Kepler-186 took many hours, as the Galliot surfed on waves of sheer nothing, slipping between the folds in space. Colour was dimmed during this time, and it cast on him a muted calm. The Warlock meditated. The Ghost tried to read. It beat staying in a SMILE pod for centuries in every way.

When they arrived, they silently gazed out the viewport and marveled at the foreign star system.

Kepler-186 was smaller and slightly cooler than the Sun, but that was to its own advantage. A slow-burning flame consumes less fuel, as a red dwarf would outlive a yellow dwarf.

Nothing immediately jumped out as odd. Still, it was a breathtaking moment. He had traveled beyond Sol. He had ventured to an entirely foreign star. He was ecstatic.

"Wow," the Ghost obsereves. "No Hive. I think."

The Warlock frowned, glancing at his hands. "I... can still feel the Light, barely. It's distant and yet clear. I don't like this feeling... It's... off."

"Yeah. Weird. We're far enough now that... Yup. We really hit on a jackpot. I'm not seeing any Cabal signatures. Not enough Darkness, so the Hive haven't reached this place yet. And... wait."

The Warlock perked up. "What is it?"

The Ghost scrunched her shell up and narrowed her eye. "I'm getting something... The fifth planet, Kepler-186f, there's... We need to get closer."

* * *

One short jump later and they were above the planet in question. It was even more impressive than the sun.  
There were continents of tan and green scattered around the sphere, surrounded by huge bodies of blue.

"It's... alive," the Warlock gasped. "I... what's wrong?"

His Ghost was frozen in place, staring off into the planet's horizon. "Warsats."

"What?!"

"Those are Warsats. The Exodus Prime brought Warsats. And they're in operation. You bastard, you were right. There are humans down-"

The Galliot's radar flashed red. The Warlock had a split-second to jerk the flight stick and dive under the burst of plasma beams. He directde his bird to dodge as smoothly as she could, but it was a struggle. The Warsats don't let up even a smidgen.

"I'm setting a jump-lock." The Guardian's free hand moved over the console before him. "In three... two... on-"

A beam kissed the Galliot's wing and sliced right through, sending the jumpship careening. Shockwaves reverberated throughout the cockpit and hull. The satellites keep their barrage up, hitting the ship again and again and again.

The Warlock cursed in seven different languages - three of them not human - and pulled helplessly on the flight stick. "I've lost control!"

His Ghost played around with the ship's terminal for a few moments, then turned back to him. "Get into the mesosphere, if gravity can catch us we can get out of range and-"

Another hit rocked the Galliot. The Warlock gritted his teeth and waited until the nose pointed towards the planet, then gunned the thrusters. Red lights flashed all around him, damage reports with some system failures mixed in for good measure. He could feel the Galliot coming apart beneath his hands, each piece beginning to burn up as they dropped towards the planet. The Warsats didn't relent, cutting away at the jumpship until they knew it wouldn't survive. When the carrier rails fell silent, the Warlock sighed in relief.

"Jokes on them," the Ghost chuckled humourlessly. "You don't need to survive."

"What was that for?" The Guardian snapped. "Rasputin?"

"No. I don't think so, anyways. I'm trying to figure it out. Their defense system has sturdy firewalls. There's... something in there. I'm trying to draw it out... Dammit, it's locking me out! Argh..."

"Get anything?"

"Not much. I... hold on. I found this."

The Ghost projected the message onto the glass canopy.

_:AI-COM/SCPO: ASSETS/WARWATCH/IMPERATIVE_   
_CONTINGENT ACTION ORDER_

_IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TEMPORAL ANOMALY_

_This is a SUBTLE ASSETS IMPERATIVE (NO HUMAN REVIEW) (NO AI-COM REVIEW)_

_KEPLAR-186F secure. Restoring activation protocols. Activating SCRY OVERSIGHT. Target [310M] lifeforms. Event mode set to SILENT VELES.:_

"Oh crap."

* * *

The Warlock ground his teeth and felt his way around his Light. As far as he was from the Traveler, it felt weak. Thin. Not enough there to do much. That was an issue. He had a skill with Arc, a prowess with controlling the uncontrollable storm, but here it was beyond his grasp.

So, instead, he turned to the infinites between spaces, the nothingness beyond, the expansive and empty Void. He has walked those nullscapes, summoned forth its paracausal venom and fiery reduction of matter. Before he was a Stormbringer, he had been a Voidwalker.

"Back to the old days indeed," he muttered. This Light was plentiful, and even in the Darkest of places it could be exploited. And here, without his patron, he would do just that.

Purple tendrils reached out from emptiness to grasp what remained of his falling ship and held it together, mercilessly extinguishing the surrounding superheated shroud of incandescent plasma. Void was an all-oppressing force none could resist. And it was his to command.

"We're not slowing down," his Ghost warned. The Warlock didn't answer her. It was taking a lot to keep himself in this trance, this lack of emotion, and some feats were beyond him.

They still plummeted, and fast.

"Hey, look. Clouds," the Ghost observed. Not a second later: "Bye clouds."

A stab of irritation slammed into him, weakening his grip. "You're not helping."

"And we're still falling, so..."

"I'm am attempting to rectify that."

"Rectify faster."

The Warlock bit back the retort and forcibly cleansed his mind of her nagging. They were getting close, now. He could feel it. He held on tighter, pulling back, slowing down the Galliot down...

A stray thought swept across.

_Drifter knew about those defence systems._

The brief spill of anger ruined all his efforts and the Galliot dropped like a rock.

**000**

Old Belhorrolt Erdsson had done well for himself, many said. Doramb was not a rich place, but each and every man and woman did their part. And, considering their recent misfortunes, life was harder than ever now. Even so, Belhorrolt had worked himself to the bone to build a house, raise livestock and care for crops, all in the interest of providing for his family. His wife was dead, had been for nearly a decade now, but his son and his family yet remained to support him in return. Together, they worked and lived to their utmost all hours of the day.

The evenings were his favourite time of the day. Belhorrolt and his son would sit outside on their home's porch, smoke with the treasured tobacco that the annual traders brought in, and watch the stars in companionable silence.

A child's cry pierced the air.

Alosk smiled apologetically, passed the pipe to his father and left to comfort his own son.

Belhorrolt exhaled deeply. He was happy, there was no denying it. He had led a hard life, but he was content with it, proud of it. He had weathered the many hardships his farm had faced, built up on the tiny inheritance his own father left, and raised his only surviving son as best he could.

Something stirred above. The old man paused to watch. This night was near cloudless and it provided a breath-taking view of the heavens, yet something was different. Brief flashes darted up, like twinkling stars beginning and dying within moments of one another. A strange sight indeed.

The spectacle ended as quickly as it began, but another phenomenon burst to life. A falling star tore across the sky, glowing an odd purple.

Old Belhorrolt stared as the the star fell closer and closer, then disappeared past the thick forests beyond Doramb. He waited for another few minutes, waiting for the next peculiar occurence, but none presented themselves.

He glanced down to his pipe and solemnly swore to cut back on his habits.

**000**

The Warlock returned to life in a world engulfed in fire. A burning sheet of plasteel lay over him. It took considerable effort to throw it off.

His Ghost materialized above and looked at him expectantly. The Warlock sighed. "Fine."

A wave of his hand extinguished the spreading flames, plunging the crater and shattered trees into near-total darkness.

"That could have gone better," she muttered. "I thought they didn't bring weapons?"

"The _Exodus_ _Prime_? There was no mention of that. We acted on what little intel we had available. However, I will admit, this is... surprising."

"We going to skip over the fact that there are _three-hundred-and-ten-million_ humans present?"

"I am more intrigued by the temporal anomaly. And the reasoning the Warmind has to keep it contained."

His Ghost scoffed. "Warminds are crazy. There's no way to know why they do anything."

"Not immediately, no, but if we delve into-"

"What, we politely ask this guy for a why and hope he doesn't vaporize us? I'm not so keen on that idea."

The Warlock paused. "Perhaps not the wisest tactic."

"Exactly."

"But a Warmind won't stop the Hive."

"You think so? There were a lot of Warsats up there. There could be other WMDs we have no idea about... What else?"

"Hm?"

"What else are we going to do? The Galliot's scrap metal, so-"

"We will salvage what we can and carry on. If there truly is a human populace, we will investigate. I want to know ... everything."

* * *

They worked for the rest of the night. The fuel tanks of the Galliot were burst, which had contributed to the initial wildfire, but what remained was collected. If nothing else, they could weaponize it. The plasteel plating was equally valuable as a resource and the Warlock cut away sizable portions to be transmatted into the Ghost's digital vault. The food, water and medicinal supplies (Ghaul had taught them a valuable lesson) were, for the most part, ruined in the crash. What little survived was packed away, but the Warlock knew it would last only days. And starving to death was not a pleasant experience. He would need to find an alternative food source.

"Air's breathable," the Ghost reported. "Everything looks good. Just like Earth..."

"The colonists would have brought frozen embryos of Earthen flora and fauna to replicate the environment of home. At the very least, we know they arrived without any trouble. Whatever happened occurred after the initial colonization efforts."

"Good for them. And us, I suppose. Can we go now?"

* * *

The Warlock found a game trail and followed it for a couple of hours, right up until they found the mountain stream. It was difficult to ascertain any noteworthy landmarks in this thick woodland of fir, oak and pine trees. The water was clean enough for consumption, so the Warlock sipped from a freshly filled flask and stocked up. Across the stream, a doe and its fawn watched him warily as they approached the water's edge. He stared back, keeping dead still. As soon as they had their fill, they bounded away, no doubt intent on telling the rest of the herd about the stranger they encountered.

The Warlock smiled softly and moved on. He followed the water downstream, if only because settlements could usually be found near freshwater. He didn't know if this held true if the residents utilized self-contained habitats, but it was as good a direction as any. At the very least, if it connected with an ocean-bound river, then it would lead him out of the dense forest.

* * *

He saw the smoke before the village came within sight. He had been fortunate to find an underused dirt road after only a day of travel. Now he was second-guessing that luck.

The Warlock drew his cannon and jogged forward.

"Stay hidden," he told his Ghost. She didn't need to be told twice.

The cause of the smoke was a simple raid. The Warlock was old by many standards. He had lived through the days where nothing could be trusted but the steel in your hand and the Ghost at your side. He had seen many raids before. Mostly Fallen were responsible, but sometimes fellow humans would surprise him.

Yet, the creature standing before the burning building and holding an axe in one hand and a screaming child in the other did not look human. Nor did its fellows, holding equally primitive weaponry and donning nothing more than ragged cloth and old leather as vests, leggings and boots. Their most notable features were the curling horns on their heads and the larger stature than the cowering villagers they had at their mercy. A nervous mob had formed, armed with nothing better than pitchforks and hatchets. Not even a rusty shotgun between them.

One shouted as soon as it saw the Warlock, but it was too late. The Guardian's cannon fired, and the bullet snapped the spotter's head back with a crack. Five subsequent shots dropped just as many creatures, before the rest began to panic. The Warlock didn't relent in the slightest. It was a one-sided slaughter. When the cannon's chamber was emptied, only the creature holding the hostage remained. It barked something in its own tongue, but the Guardian didn't heed the unfamiliar words. The axe pressed closer to the child - who couldn't have been any older than six - and gave the man pause. He holstered his cannon and drew his knife of Hunter design. A friend had left it to him some time ago.

The Warlock grasped the Void in his offhand and tore himself through space in a Blink, slicing the atom-sharp blade through the horned creature's arm and then tearing out its throat, catching the child and kicking away the dying beast.

He was met with no other sound than the crackling of flames, turning around to face his terrified and dumbstruck audience.


	4. First Impressions I

"Who are you?"

Those words gave the Warlock pause. It was in English, surprisingly. The speaker, the child's father, was the lone farmer brave enough to come near him, and only to desperately retrieve his son.

People didn't ask for a name, most of the time. They'd know exactly what he was. A Guardian.

But these people had never known a Guardian. Their ancestors never knew Guardians. To them, it wasn't even a foreign concept. It just... wasn't anything.

"A Guardian," the Warlock answered. They didn't know anything about his kind yet, but they would, if he had anything to say about it.

The fire still raged behind him, engulfing the wood and thatch cottage. The Warlock swept around and killed it with a gesture. His audience near scattered at the display.

This fear was something he remembered before the walls were erected and the Risen banded together. The Warlock sheathed his blade and clasped his hands behind his back.

"I mean you no harm," he told them, voice soft. Their terror was palpable.

"Yer a wizard!" Someone called out.

The Warlock hesitated. "In a way, I am."

"Do ye work fer the king?"

A king. The Warlock never had anything pleasant to say about kings, be they a Fallen House, self-proclaimed rulers of personal fiefs or Hive gods. He opposed kings. Maybe this would prove a different case.

"Thank ye!" The child's father exclaimed, near sobbing with relief. "By the gods, bless yer kind heart!"

The Guardian just inclined his head.

That broke the dam. It was as if a light had been switched on. The terror melted away into euphoria. The villagers began to shower him in praise and gratitude. The Warlock just stood there, rather bewildered by the state of the village, these humans as well as the bandit creatures. It was all so... primitive.

He wanted to drill the villagers for information or study the remains of the creatures, but he sensed that anything overly direct would frighten these skittish people. He stepped aside as they began salvaging what could be save in the burnt cottage. Some started dragging away the bodies, and were none too kind to the dead beasts. For now, he reckoned he would just play along, see where this situation would lead him. As an old friend would say, _go with the flow_.

* * *

By evening, a handful of villagers had led him to a larger-than-most building and offered him the choicest drinks within the establishment, as well as a hot dinner.

The Warlock unclasped his helmet - revealing a pale face with narrow features, steely eyes and short matted auburn hair - and laid it beside him on the tavern's table, sipping the drink cautiously. It... wasn't bad. It had some way to go if it was to outmatch the sweet wine from the vineyards of Pallas, but he didn't dislike it.

The food consisted of some dried meats in a stew of carrots and onion. It further confirmed his theory. This place was not just primitive technology-wise. It was poor.

What had happened to the colonists to drive them back to this?

The child he had saved stared at him, even as the others began to settle their nerves with strong drinks. The Warlock smiled and waved the boy over. The youngster walked over nervously, sitting opposite the Warlock, and looked away shyly. The Guardian pushed the bowl of stew over to the lad. The boy gave it a moment's hesitation before he began digging in, wolfing down the still steaming meal.

The Guardian leaned back and tasted his mead once more. The boy finished it all within two minutes. Being held hostage was hungry work.

"Wh-what's yer... name, sir?" The lad asked.

The Warlock smiled reassuringly. "I am Ikharos. What is yours?"

"Uh... Rirmand, sir. T-tank you."

"It was nothing, Rirmand."

"Is it true?" The boy blurted.

"Is what true?"

"Are ye a wizard?"

The Guardian laughed quietly. "That is both a frightening and amusing prospect. Not exactly. I prefer the term Warlock."

"What's dat mean?"

"It means I am as much a scholar as I am a warrior."

"Can ye teach it? Magic, I mean."

Ikharos shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Rirmand. Light is not so easily grasped."

"Ach, lad, don't be bothering the man!" Rirmand's father stepped over, shooting the Warlock a worried look. "I hope 'e's not been troubling ye, good sir."

"Is it quite alright. This bright young man has been very polite."

"That's, ah, good to hear, sir."

"Please, call me Ikaros."

"Ah, thanks, Ikharos. This here's Rirmand. My name is Alosk." The farmer hesitantly sat on the bench beside his son. "Do ye mind if I ask ye a question, sir?"

"Not at all."

"Yer a kingsman, are you?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm a foreigner here, so you'll have to educate me on a few matters. Who is this king you speak of?"

The farmer blinked in surprise. "Oh... Oh, I see. Yer not... I see. Uh, Galbatorix is our king. 'e rules the Empire."

"And what empire is that?"

"The empire of... Alagaësia, sir."

"What is this Alagaësia?"

"Ye must be from very far away, laddie," another man joined them. This one resembled Rirmand's father but for greying hair and a stooped gait. The Warlock had to suppress a grin. No one had called him laddie in a very, very long time.

Ikharos nodded. "That is one way to put it."

"Alagaësia is all the land here. Everything ye see and far more besides is part o' it. Where'd ye come from, if ye never heard of it?"

"Father," Alosk warned, but the old man wasn't deterred in the slightest.

"Where do ye hail from that ye don't know about Alagaësia?"

Ikharos gave it some thought. "I was raised up in London, but I spent much of my life calling the Last City of Earth my home."

"But... there's most cities built on top o' earth. Maybe not those dwarves, but them're just tales."

"I meant planet Earth."

"Father, leave 'im be, 'e obviously don't want to say nothin'."

"Bah!" The old man hobbled off. "Feckin' wizards..."

Alosk sighed. "Sorry about 'im, 'e's gotten nosy in 'is old age."

Ikharos waved the apology aside. "I've had far worse interrogations before. Now, to the matter at hand." The Warlock leaned forward. "Is there a map I could borrow for a minute? I'd like to commit it to memory."

"I, uh, of course. I'll go fetch it now." Alosk practically scrambled to meet the Guardian's demands. Leaving a wide-eyed Rirmand to once more drill the Guardian on the matter of magic. Ikharos took to it gladly. It was pleasant, to relive his experiences as a teacher, even if he was only speaking of the most rudimentary of subjects.

"What's da ting ye got der?"

"Hm? Oh, this?" The Warlock laid his cannon on the table. Its ivory frame and golden thorns gleamed in the candlelight. "This is my Lumina. It's very special to me. I forged it myself, under the instruction of someone who knew its origins intimately."

"How does it work?"

"See this?" Ikharos held up a bullet. "This is what it fires. Normally the gun has no power at all, just a hammer and pin, but this cannon is special. However, I'll run over the basics. The pin strikes the primer on the cartridge. The cartridge is a self contained round of ammunition that has a primer, gunpowder, and a projectile bullet all enclosed in a brass or steel case. When the firing pin hits the primer with enough force, it detonates and lights the powder. The powder burn creates a pressure spike that propels the bullet forward. Bullets and guns can differ in design and function. A hand-cannon like this is meant for power and easy handling, you see?"

Rirmand didn't see, and Ikharos was reminded that the boy was only six-years old. The inner workings of a firearm were a bit beyond a child of that age. Usually. When the Warlock was six, he was already cutting down Devils by the dozen with an auto rifle.

The reminder of the mortality of those around him brought up a new issue. "Rirmand, are you alright?"

"Yes sir."

"Are you sure? Didn't those creatures scare you?"

The boy's wonder instantly died away, replaced with a fraction of the terror he had displayed earlier. "Are dey gone?"

"They're gone. Don't worry. They won't come back."

The child looked up at the Warlock with eyes so trusting, so faithful that the Guardian would protect him. "Yer a good man."

Then the boy raced off.

Ikharos sighed deeply. "I try to be."

* * *

"'ere ye go," Alosk smoothed out the ragged vellum sheet. Features were scrawled in with a semi-skilled hand, so the accuracy was debatable. Still, better a faulty map than none sense of direction at all.

"Thank you," Ikharos nodded.

But the farmer wasn't finished. "Sir, I wanted to... thank ye for saving my boy. I, uh... if you need a roof over y-yer head, it would be my... honour."

The Warlock paused. "I do not want to impose on you and your family."

"Please, sir, let me repay this debt."

A pulse of warmth told him that someone else wanted it too. "So be it. Thank you, Alosk. Would it be any trouble if I asked a few more questions? I'm afraid my curiosity has been piqued."

"Uh, not at all, sir!"

"Does the word Warmind ring any bells?"

"Warmind? Can't say it does."

Ikharos hummed. He had a new hypothesis. "Young Rirmand and I talked, and it seems to me that firearms, just like the weapons I carry, are not common here?"

"Bein' dead honest, sir, I've never seen the likes o' them."

"Alright. Now, this king of yours... what's he like?"

Alosk paused. That worried the Warlock. "He's... I wouldn't know what to say, sir. We don't get many o' the king's men here, not even the tax collectors. I've never seen the man, but then not many have, I thinks."

"Is he a good king?"

"Again, sir, I don't know. We here in Doramb don't get many strangers, 'cept for Urgals down from the mountains."

"Urgals?"

"You don't know? Them beasts with the horns. Big and strong as ox, with a temper besides. Monsters, the lot of them. That bunch 'ad been at our stock for some weeks now. I thinks they figured we wouldn't fight so good."

"Do they attack often?"

"Not usually, sir. I thinks something has 'em riled up."

"Interesting," the Warlock turned his gaze back to the map. "Where did they come from, do you know?"

"Up in the Spine," Alosk pointed to a nearby mountain range.

Ikaros leaned back. "Alright. I think I'll investigate this further, tomorrow."

"I don't know if that's wise, sir."

"Oh?"

"They say Galbatorix lost half 'is army I there. The Spine is no place for men."

"All the more reason for me to investigate. I'll ensure the Urgals do not bother your people again."

* * *

It was the dead of night when Ikharos decided to bring out his Ghost. Her eye shone a faint blue light around the guestroom, before settling on him.

"It's like the Dark Age. But worse," she grumbled.

"And yet an improvement. No Fallen. No Warlords. No Iron Lords. Just normal people."

"And horned monsters."

"Mutations, I believe. Whether intended or not, I don't know. They are hominids. Neohumans. It warrants looking into."

"The old man said something about dwarves. What's your take on that?"

"Strange myths commonly popped up during the Middle Ages and Dark Age. They were superstitious times."

"The most advanced piece of equipment they have is a horse-drawn plough."

The Warlock grunted and focused on sculpting the piece of plasteel. He didn't need sleep as urgently as most people did. An advantage to being reforged in the Light.

"Something did this to them," Ikharos said after some length. "Something strong. We know they had a Warmind with them, so whatever it was could get past that."

"Vex?"

"No. They'd have turned this place into a machine-world long ago."

"Hive?"

"They would have turned everything into a wasteland."

"Then... what?"

"I don't know. A temporal anomaly, complete lack of all forms of technology the colonists arrived with, a new race of neohumans and a trigger-happy Warmind."

"It's a puzzle."

"Yes." Ikharos held up the finished product in the Ghost's glow. "Maybe we'll find a clue tomorrow."

* * *

The Warlock left the village the moment dawn broke through the night. He left a small metal figurine of a Sunbreaker Titan on the bed.

His Ghost found the tracks left by the raiders and highlighted them on the Guardian's HUD. Ikharos entered the forest and moved swiftly. He would follow it to the source.

* * *

Twenty miles later, Ikharos found the small military-style camp from which the Urgals came from. There were scores of them. Some stood sentry, while most gathered around fires for their supper.

Ikharos gathered the Void around him to cloak his presence and circled around, attempting to find a weakness in the perimeter of barricades and stakes.

The Urgals were armed with basic weapons of crude iron and steel, wearing animal pelts and old leather for armour. Their legs were bowed and arms thick with muscle, but that didn't worry the Warlock. The sight of swords made him hesitate, but it was just mere metal. He had read the papers published by both Toland and Shaxx, and knew from experience how powerful a blade forged from hadium could be. These tools, on the other hand, were little better than kitchenware, lacking in any shred of Light or Dark.

What truly caught him off guard was the larger specimens. Those Urgal morphs, larger than their brethren, stood as tall as a Fallen Captain or a Cabal Legionary, but lacking in the sturdy armour or terrible power the Warlock's old foes possessed. These creatures appeared mighty, but they were... lesser, too.

The Warlock slipped into the camp through a small gap and walked among them, unseen and unheard. He followed their conversations, he watched as they tending to the fires over which they roasted meats and he studied their belongings. They were barbaric, but slips of culture slipped through the cracks in their façade.

Ikharos positioned himself in the centre of their encampment and focused on whom he believed to be the leader of this band, then tore away his cloak. The nearest Urgals scrambled to their feet as the Guardian appeared suddenly amongst them, and that alerted the others. There was a pregnant pause as the horned beasts stared at the sudden newcomer with a mix of shock and rage.

Their leader, the largest of those abnormally huge Urgals, roared something in their language. Ikaros locked eye with him.

"You will leave the people of Doramb be," he instructed them. If they understood, they didn't show any sign of it.

The lead Urgal glanced around. "Otrag bagh. Kaz jtierl trazhid."

The creatures brought their weapons to bear and arrayed themselves around the Warlock in a rough circle, leaving him in the centre of an island among the sea of barbarians. One in particular, wearing robes of animal skins and ornaments of bones, stepped forward, holding nothing but a ceremonial staff in its hands, growling like a basic beast

Ikharos sighed. "Suit yourself."

He held out his empty hands and Void spilled in immense quantity, engulfing the Guardian in a shielding violet aura and wreathing him in flames of black-indigo. The ground below him burned and rotted away, melted to slag and solidifying into a dark crystalline material. The loose Urgal formation broke as they scattered like panicking cattle. Ikaros strode forward. The robed Urgal hesitated, then snapped out a myriad of words that did not fit its guttural voice. Something changed, for the Warlock. It felt like a tingling sensation. He identified it as a weak paracausal force seeking to change him physically. His will and Light lashed at it immediately, utterly shattering the spell. The Warlock tilted his head, his march pausing.

The robed Urgal's eyes widened and it screamed. It sent another attack the Guardian's way, but this came in the form of a method he knew well. It infuriated him.

"I have faced the Witches of the Hive," he snarled. "Their will is eons old, sharpened upon the graves of a thousand dead worlds. I have battled with the telepathic waves of Psion Flayers, trained since birth in combat between minds. Do you truly think you can succeed where they failed?"

The Void around him struck like a serpent, killing the Urgal shaman instantly. Its body disintegrated as its atoms degraded to complete null, every particle annihilated utterly, every physical trace eliminated from the universe.

The Urgal's leader stepped back as the Warlock approached, fell to his knees and clasped his meaty hands together as if to beg. The flames and tendrils receded.

Ikharos placed a glowing palm against its neck. "You will not trouble the people of Doramb any further. If you do, I will come for you."

He left the large Urgal screaming as the Void branded him with a mark of the Warlock's hand.

* * *

"Think they learned their lesson?"

"Only time will tell. However, I imagine they will steer clear of the village in future."

"You made quite the impression. That might come back to bite us."

"What was that Variks always said?"

" _They will try to kill you. Kill them back._ "


	5. First Impressions II

"Looks clear," his Ghost remarked.

The Warlock continued to watch the wide dirt road (was there any other kind here?) through the lens of the Zen Meteor's scope. His position up on a boulder at the forest's edge was well hidden and granted a wide vantage point. Had this been Earth, a Fallen crew or Warlord would have set up in this exact area immediately. It was uphill from the road, low visibility, great cover and enough occasional traffic to warrant staying... but no one in this country, or perhaps even the planet, had a rifle of any sort. Aside from him.

Ikharos chose not to return to Doramb, now that he had ensured it would survive. In the grand scheme of things it was unimportant. He chose to take a southward road directed towards the nearby town of Narda. It was his estimate that there would be a greater chance of learning useful information in a population centre.

Movement caught his eye, coming from his left. A small group of riders surrounding a cart pulled by oxen. They wore basic armour of boiled leather and chainmail, over which they had red tunics bearing a symbol of a twisted flame outlined with gold thread. Soldiers. The king's, perhaps?

"I bet they're carrying valuables in that cart."

"Not that it concerns us." Ikharos waited until they passed, then slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder and picked his way down the hill. "No matter what, stay out of sight."

"Yeah, I know."

When they reached the road, the Warlock gave the Ghost an expectant glance.

She huffed. "Being partnered is far from the glamorous job I'd thought it would be. Here you... go?"

"Em… what's wrong?"

"Jamming signal."

"Where's the communications hub?" This was standard procedure by now. Fallen or Cabal put down irksome devices to inhibit their enemies from calling in Jumpships or Sparrows, so the Guardian goes and blows it up. Ikharos had lost count of how many times he'd done so. Freehold and Firebase Hades had both held obnoxious amounts of such machines. It had almost became a game at that point.

"Looking... Huh."

"Close?"

"Nope. Up."

"Ah. The Warsats."

"They're locked around the planet for a reason. Nothing gets in or out on their watch."

"Psekisk," the Warlock snarled in near perfect Eliksni. "This is becoming an irritation."

* * *

The Warlock walked the entire three days it took to reach Narda without pause. He set a breakneck pace, fatal for a Ghostless human, and traveled an incredible distance within that timeframe. He was hardly even out of breath when he arrived.

Narda was compact, huddled against the calm glittering sea, the foothills of the Spine behind it. A duo of soldiers, much like the riders from earlier, guarded the road in with halberds in hand. They watched the Warlock with suspicious eyes as he neared.

"Where'd you be from?" One asked.

Ikharos shrugged. "Doramb."

"You don't look like a piss-poor farmer..."

"That's because I'm not."

"Then what are you?"

"A soldier." The armour he wore further emphasised his claim.

"What brings a soldier here?"

"Wanderlust."

"Hah, wanderlust." The guards exchanged glances. "Fine, you can enter, but don't cause any trouble. We'll be keeping our eye on you."

"I'm sure you will..." The Guardian slipped past and into the town.

It was midday and the markets were busy, with the wealthy farmers selling the last of their winter crop and a band of traders come from south to buy and sell whatever would make them a tidy profit. Ikharos easily stood out amongst the merchants and shoppers, wearing his Braytech armour, but few paid him more than a curious glance. Still, they kept their distance.  
He had his own goal here. He needed money.

The jewellers was his first destination. A big man with a maul tied to his belt stood at the corner of the stall, while the owner entertained a richly dressed young adult. They noticed his arrival, of course, yet carried on with their bartering. The Warlock didn't mind. He could wait, even if the hired guard was giving him a dark look.

"...and thank you, sir. I hope your wife appreciates the gift." The merchant said jovially. The previous customer walked off, now with a silver bracelet in hand. "And how can I help you, sir?"

The jeweller's shrewd gaze narrowed. Ikharos couldn't really blame him. He looked like a mercenary. Still, he wasn't here to prove or disprove the theories of others. "I'm looking to sell."

"Oh? And what do you offer?"

The Warlock held out a piece of royal amethyst. The jeweller's eyes boggled.

"Is, uh... is that what you mean to part with?"

"It is."

"I can offer... five hundred crowns."

Ikharos paused. He had little idea how valuable the currency was, and though this wasn't only crystal he had, he didn't want to waste it. His Ghost had the best business sense of either of them, so he trusted her judgement on this.

_Haggle. Up the price._

"Seven hundred."

_There you go._

"Six hundred," the merchant countered. His eyes still greedily followed the crystal.

"Six hundred and fifty."

"Those terms are acceptable." The man procured a clinking bag and counted out the money. Once it was all there - and the checked it was all there - Ikharus handed over the amethyst. He didn't know if he came out a richer man, but he was satisfied that he had another potential resource to use.

* * *

The inn was near as busy as the market by evening. Still, Ikharos managed to find a seat through all the chaos. It was some time before a server found him.

"How can I help you, sir?" The barmaid asked.

Ikharos planted five of those 'crowns' on the table. "Some food and wine, if you would. And tell me, which route to Teirm would be quickest?"

"That'd be by the sea, sir, but you'd have to book passage upon one of them ships."

The Warlock hummed. "That sounds ideal. Thank you."

"I'll bring your meal shortly, sir. Would you be needing a room?"

"I don't think so. There will be few clouds tonight. I think I might watch the stars."

The girl frowned but didn't say any more, taking the coins and disappearing back into the bustle of the tavern. True to her word, she returned with a plate of roast beef, carrots and parsnip, as well as a dusty bottle of wine. It was a silent affair, but the atmosphere and background noise was pleasant. Relaxing. Once he finished, the Guardian dropped another pair of crowns on the table and left.

* * *

"Are you headed to Teirm?" The Warlock asked. The sailor nodded hesitantly. "Where is the captain?"

The man pointed to another down the pier, talking with a local official. Ikharos went to investigate.

"...needs to be done! My business is in danger!" The captain complained. He was a heavyset man and his clothes were moderately well kept, but his boots were stained with sea salt.

"I'm sorry, but there is little we can do!" The official replied hotly. "Good day!"

The second man stormed off, passing the Guardian without even looking at him.

The captain sighed heavily. "What will I do.."

"Excuse me. You are the owner of that ship?" Ikharos gestured to the boat he had just left.

The captain sent him a searching look. "That I am. Captain Evrulf. Can I help you?"

"I would like to procure passage to Teirm." The Warlock offered near fifty crowns. The captain's breath stalled for a moment.

"Er, uh, yes, of course. We will set off on the morrow."

"Good. If I may, what is it that threatens your livelihood?"

Evrulf scowled. "There's been talk of pirates. Sailing's hard enough, this is a hassle we could do without."

"Ah." Ikharos nodded. "In any case, I will meet you tomorrow."

* * *

The ship was a small cog with nearly a dozen crew and a few other passengers. The focus of this journey was obviously to ferry cargo. Ironically, those soldiers the Warlock sighted on the road to Narda were on board as well as the crates they had been guarding.

Ikharos handed the captain the payment and located a quiet spot to meditate. He had been correct the previous day, as the sky had been clear the previous nights. The stars were remarkable, and the Warlock had spent quite some time following the unfamiliar constellations.

In all honesty, he was excited for Teirm. Human cities, aside from the Last City or the habitats of the Reef, were often full of the dead and in various states of disrepair. A healthy, living settlement would be a welcome change. Not only that, but there was bound to be something to enlighten him. He had been on Kepler-186f for some time, yet with every answer he had another two questions.

Their journey began without a hitch. The tides and winds seemingly favoured him that day, for they left the town behind before the hour was out. As the ship sailed out into the open ocean Ikharos was struck with the desire to join the other passengers in watching the land shrink away from them. Even as the coast began to disappear, those distant peaks of the Spine still loomed. It was an incredible sight.

"The sea is a harsh mistress, but a beautiful one," Evrulf said. "Even now, after twenty years of sailing, I haven't grown sick of it."

The Warlock could relate. Space was always so mysterious, so unpredictable, and he loved it dearly even if the cause of humanity's plight crawled from its darkest corners.

* * *

For nearly a week they sailed peacefully. Ikharos contemplated the puzzles he faced and made some progress with an assortment of differing theories. On the odd occasion he made small talk with crew and fellow passengers. The soldiers were easily the most unfriendly of them all, and they marked him out as suspicious since the beginning, so he avoided them as best he could.

Then, as he began to settle down, trouble brewed.

"Sails!" Someone, a crewmember yelled. A flurry of activity came after it. With a pang of annoyance, Ikharus stood back up and looked over to where the sailors pointed. Another ship, a larger galley bearing a golden sail, still a few miles out. "Captain!"

"Aye, I see it!" Evrulf snapped. "Look at them... Mangy scavengers!"

Ah. Pirates. The Warlock mustered his grip upon the Void. She was right. It truly was like the Dark Age here.

"Full sail!" The captain ordered. "We'll outrun those dogs yet!"

The crew sprung into action. Ikharos made his way to the back of the cog and watched their pursuers. He hoped they could be reasoned with. It would be unfortunate if they made themselves a nuisance. He pulled his rifle over his shoulder and set the stock against his shoulder, keeping his stance wide and moving his torso to account for the swell and drop of the sea beneath. The other ship were indeed chasing, it seemed. Their crew were watching the cog closely while they mobilised.

Ikharos adjusted his aim. Interesting. He didn't need to exercise his power at all. He watched for a few minutes more, allowing the pirates to close the distance by half, then timed it. He needed to do it just right, to anticipate how both ships would move and then...

_Bang!_

The galley's mast erupted near the base with a burst of flame and many splinters of wood. The Warlock couldn't hear it, but he could see the chaos he had sown. The upper mast collapsed sideways and fell hallway into the water, completely halting the pirates' efforts.

"What in the world was THAT?" Evrulf cried out, staring at the rifle. "That roar!"

"The pirates will trouble us no further," Ikharos told him, his voice soft yet clearly audible in the silence following his shot. He slung the rifle back over his shoulder, held to his back by a magnetic lock in his armour. "Might we resume our course?"

The captain opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, his face pale with fear, then ordered his crew in a wavering voice to return to their posts. Ikharos turned back to the disaster that was now the galley. They would survive, but their means by which they preyed on others had been crippled.

* * *

The crew feared him. He supposed it was his own fault. Isolation was an old friend, but he did not dread it. Ikharos was always an introvert. His quiet nature was one borne of years of weathering warfare and loss.

This sailing trip was more hazardous than he had originally anticipated. Even without the pirates, the ship nearly faced complete and utter destruction from sudden storms twice. It took much of his remaining Light to divert the worst of the gales from the fragile wooden cog. The crew never even realized how close they came to being smashed against the sea floor.

They did make good time, however. It was quicker than walking, that was for certain, and he had saved lives. He didn't regret that choice. He was a Guardian; he would protect the mortal people from the horrific dangers the universe vomited up.

Within another two weeks they reached the city of Teirm.

* * *

Even here, much farther south, the Spine towered above everything. The slopes fell and gave way for a vast grassland of rolling hills and sparse forest. Teirm sprawled out, but there was a solid wall around the bulk of it, leaving the farms and estates to fend for themselves. The walled city stood at the centre of a large bay. A lighthouse and fortress rose above every other building. Other ships, many far larger than the cog, docked by the port.

There was much shouting as the cog reached a pier, between the sailors and those on land. Ropes were inevitably tossed, and the ship was soon secured. A gangplank was thrown down. Ikharos was the first to disembark, if only because everyone else gave him a wide berth. The soldiers, even those at the port, watched him with interest.

It was morning they had arrived, and the Warlock found it easy to flow into the bustling crowds of the city. There were a few signs, but nothing gave him what he desired, so he grasped a nearby urchin who had been about to rob an unaware merchant and held up a crown. "Tell me where the library is, and this will be yours."

"Down that aways, sir," the youth pointed to a path branching off the main road.

"Show me."

The boy ran ahead, slowing down at every turn for the strolling Guardian, until they stopped before a grand building. Ikharos noted how the houses gradually became shorter the further they walked from the centre of the city, and asked the boy.

"To helps in case of an attack, sir."

"Ah. Smart." He tossed the urchin the gold coin. "Spend it wisely."

"Thank you, sir!" The youth sprinted away, hollering for his friends. The Warlock chuckled quietly. It had been much the same in the Last City.

He entered the beautifully built wooden building, oddly devoid of life, and found himself faced with a perplexed old man wearing brown robes.

"Excuse me," the elder began, his eyes sharply roving over the Guardian's armour, "but what business have you here?"

"Sorry, I was under the impression this was a library?" Ikharos frowned. _Waste of a coin. I should have known_ better.

"It is."

"Oh, good."

"Then what is your business here?"

"I was hoping to do some research. There are a number of topics I would like to educate myself on."

"Who are you?"

"Ikharos. I'm a Warlock."

"A magician, then?" The old man stood up straight. "Ah, you work for the king! My apologies!"

"I don't..." Ikharos began, but a presence within pulsed rapidly. "I mean, it is no trouble at all."

"You are welcome to study our books and scrolls. All I ask is that you do not damage them. My order has spent a century gathering, copying and protecting them."

"Of course."

"Then follow me."

The old man led him down a hallway, past rooms were other monks studiously copied texts onto fresh paper and vellum with quills dipped in ink, and led him to a large room where bookshelves laid in neat rows. Each shelf was chock full of volumes and records.

"Incredible," the Warlock grinned.

"I concur. Please, we are at your service."

"Thank you very much."

* * *

If there hadn't been a war for basic survival, Ikharos would have fully devoted himself to creating a library. Or a bookstore. He adored books. These tomes were no different. However, he had a mission, so he focused on where it all began. The colonists and their _Exodus Prime_.

The library had nothing on the matter. History was suspiciously absent or so obviously altered that it was near useless. It was immensely disappointing. Instead, he pored over subjects that might assist him in deciphering the grand puzzle the entire planet was. Geography was one such topic, and this time they had access to a much more detailed map. His Ghost scanned it for further use. Then came literature, which was a pleasurable break from the stabs of irritation he had felt over the past few hours, and he basked in the sweet fantasies of poetry.

And finally, that book to catch him by surprise. It is biology, though rudimentary in its learning, and focused on the wildlife of Alagaësia. The Warlock wanted to catch a whiff of the origins of the Urgals, at least, but his attention was soon grasped by one page in particular.

_Dragons._

Never has one word, even as beautifully scrawled as this one, brought out so much emotion in him. Regret... Uncertainty... Sorrow... Rage.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Sudden noise alerted him to people coming down the hallway, the slow gait of the old monk clashing with the hard clacks of metal boots on the floor. Soldiers.

"...said he was a servant of the king, but if I had ever known what he truly was, I would have locked him out immediately!" The group entered the library. His suspicions were confirmed. Five soldiers, the leader of which he remembered from the ship. The old man, shaking with fury, raising one waggling finger to the Warlock. "There he is!"

Ikharos sighed and sat up. "What seems to be the issue? I must warn you, now is not a good time. I am in a precarious mood."

The lead soldier drew his sword. "Yer to surrender yer weapon and come wiv us."

The Warlock closed the book and watched in detached interest as his Ghost transmatted it away. "No. I don't think I will."

Even before the soldiers took their first step, he had Blinked outside the building. He could hear their startled shouts through the wooden walls and then started moving away, slowly. He needed to leave the city, now that he had _something_.

* * *

It wasn't long before the soldiers raised the hue and cry. Mere minutes. He was genuinely impressed, but that didn't help him any. Guards all around started closing off streets with weapons in hand, which was problematic given how the city was structured. They didn't need to know who they were looking for once they caught sight of him; his armour was strange enough.

"Dammit," he hissed under his breath. Guards at every street, no way past them without starting a fight, and there were too many civilians nearby. He wouldn't risk anyone getting crossed in the crossfire. "What now?"

_The houses are low. You can glide your way across._

"That's far from covert. I won't be able to do that and cloak at the same time. Any alternatives?"

_Unless you think casualties are acceptable, then not really._

"Dammit," he repeated. He stood still, stared at the house before him, and gathered the Void. Then he jumped.

Someone screamed. Shouts echoed from below, but he was already on the move, flying from building to building. Leaping over the city walls was easy. Once his feet touched the ground, he started running, his Light-infused muscles moving faster than any mortal could, tearing reality asunder to mask his presence from every living creature around.

* * *

"Dragons," he said at last, sitting against a tree. His Ghost provided the only light around, scarcely enough to make out the words on the page. "They have Ahamkara."

"Had, more like. Look, just under. _Extinct_."

"Impossible. If we had trouble winning the Great Hunt, they would never have destroyed them. And even if they had, what about the bones? Those monsters would have turned this land... _wrong._ "

"It fits the bill, though. Temporal anomaly. Hostile Warmind. All the equipment they came with gone."

"It's a clue, but not an answer. _What happened?_ "


	6. First Impressions III

" _Great reptiles of immense wing, scale and fang..._ That doesn't make any sense. Ahamkara are shapeshifters!"

"Ikharos. You're arguing with a book."

"Yes, I know!"

"Just wanted to clear that up." The Ghost bobbed. "Continue."

" _Their species came_ _in an assortment of_ _colours..._ "

"True."

" _...and they possessed the abilities to breathe fire and grow to unusually large sizes..._ "

"Correct and correct."

"It shouldn't be! Ahamkara don't fight! They don't need fire! Look, it says here _carnivorous_. Ahamkara don't feed on flesh; they're ontopathic predators of desire!"

"Yup."

"It's all so... wrong!" In a fit of fury, the Warlock threw the book away.

His Ghost watched it go. "Wow. I've never seen you do that before."

Ikharos held his head in his hands. "Nothing makes sense."

"Not yet. Maybe we'll catch a break."

"Why aren't you worried? You saw what they did on Venus!"

"Honestly? You're the Warlock. You've got this."

"I haven't got anything!" He jumped to his feet and began pacing. "My studies are of history, but there isn't any! Eris knew Ahamkara, we... we should have found her, told her."

"We didn't know there would be dragons here."

He laughed without cheer. "I hate Wish-Dragons."

"Yeah... yeah, I hate them too."

"This hate will destroy us, if we find one."

"I know. But it's hard not to. Not after..."

"... Lennox..." The Warlock finished. Those great jaws of finality clamping down on that shred of desire... it was hard to forget. "And Gecko."

His Ghost floated down and perched on top of the Warlock's discarded helmet. "We can do this."

"We have to." Ikharos set his jaw. "There were Ahamkara here... but where did they go?"

"What next?"

The Warlock shrugged. "We move somewhere to find a clue."

"And the dragons?"

"The moment we hear anything, we investigate. And then we destroy them."

* * *

Ikharos decided to head even further south, towards the city of Kuasta. The walk was long and arduous, but he did not stop to rest, marching on with an air of revitalized determination. He only ever paused to eat from his packed rations, and granted him the opportunity to look around and appreciate the landscape surrounding him. The flora and fauna was so natural and seamless, it sometimes appeared as if this world was natural, a second Earth.

The only issue he could find was that the Spine was in the way and he had no access to his Sparrow. He jogged for parts of it and covered large distances, but the mountains were... unpleasant.

Nothing bothered him as he traveled. He followed some roads and paths, but there were few peoples this way and he kept out of sight when possible. Thus far, he hadn't seen anyone from Teirm's direction, but that didn't mean the soldiers gave up. Still, even with horses, they would be hard pressed to catch him. Animals needed to rest. Lightbearers didn't. At least, not regularly.

At one point, as he set to work on cooking a block of instant-noodles, he once more found a denizen of the mountain. He had placed his back towards the cliffs behind and kept his weapons close, for he knew they were there. Even if he had somehow missed them, his helmet's heat sensors and motion trackers would not.

A single Urgal broke away from the trees. It wasn't of the larger kind, but it still looked physically powerful and its horns grew incredibly long horns, its body scarred from numerous old fights. Its armour was in better quality than those of the north, yet nothing on the soldiers of Teirm. It had a hand axe in one hand, and its furious gaze saw nothing but the Warlock in front of him.

Ikharos grunted in annoyance and raised a hand encased in the unescapable force of the universe. "Go away."

It startled, but like a starving Dreg it was not dissuaded. It charged. The Warlock sent a seeker projectile straight at it, spiking its heart and atomizing the remains.

* * *

Kuasta was as far away as Narda was to Teirm, and he didn't have a ship this time around. Still, the Warlock gave it his best, but he barely made it five weeks later. Spring was already passed and now they were entering the warm summer months, to his dismay. The hours in a day and the seasons in a year were identical to that of the EDZ, which was immensely disconcerting. Kepler-186f should have had a different orbital and rotational period.

Onto more present matters, Kuasta looked more intimidating than Teirm. It was twice as large and with a much larger bay to access the ocean with. The city, much like its northern sibling, was laid out strategically and possessed strong walls, but this time the outer villages were protected too. They were organised into independent burhs. Considering the isolated nature of Kuasta and its surrounding lands, and the presence of Urgals in the mountains all around, they needed superior protection. Those fortified settlements did the job wonderfully.

Ikharos stopped at one of those villages. The lands of Kuasta were flat and the farms were prosperous, but the Urgals were a constant threat. Militias were common, outnumbering the Imperial soldiers. There was a tension in the air, the Guardian sensed. The people were... unhappy, for some reason.

Eyes were on him the moment he entered the settlement. The palisade of wood and mud was old and bore the marks of attempted raids, and the villagers inside wore sullen expressions. However, as much as they appeared to distrust him, it quickly became apparent they abhorred the presence of the king's men. It didn't take him long to figure out why.

It was only midday, and still the three red garbed soldiers were on their way to drinking themselves into a stupor. They were at the point when they were mean and dangerous, their minds semi-clear and without all rationality. One of them was bellowing insults at whatever person passed by their spot outside a rundown husk of a stone building. How the man didn't see the Ikharos walking by was beyond his ability to comprehend. Even so, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he proceeded to a house with a shopfront, selling tools and produce and whatever else was deemed profitable. Just the place the Warlock wanted. He traded fifteen crowns, perhaps an overly generous amount, for a loaf of bread and an assortment of fruit and vegetables. A pity there wasn't a bakery. He would have killed for a croissant, especially those from that lovely little place in the Peregrine District.

The other soldiers laughed outrageously. This would have been the point when a Frame came around to guilt trip them into behaving, but there wasn't a single robot in sight. Unfortunate. Even so, it wasn't his place to interfere. Or rather, that had been his mindset, until one of the soldiers grabbed a woman by the arm forcibly tugged her over.

Ikharos practically stormed over, but he couldn't make it through the growing mob that the soldiers started to notice. Not that they relented, no, they took it as a challenge. One drew his sword and his companions followed suit. "Move on, now, or I'll stick ye like pigs!"

The sight of bare steel played its effect on the villagers, but it only further aggravated the Warlock. Back on Earth, he had spent decades stamping out this type of authority.

The local militia mobilised near instantly. Though they had little better than spears, hunting bows and long knives, they didn't look like they cared for the difference in weapon quality. Five of them converged on the scene and... well, it was a classic stand off.

It struck a chord in Ikharos, and that gave him pause.

* * *

_Nine guns aimed at the Hunter. Ikharos held back the death crackling between his fingertips - a hungry abyss eager to rip apart the life of any who stood against him - and noted his companion's stance. This was the Gunslinger's show. He wanted it clean. The Warlord just wanted it over with._

_"This is not your home," the magistrate bit out. He had the same eyes as Merwin, before the Titan had been turned to ash, before the corrupt Risen's Ghost had left him to stay dead. They were shattered inside. A wounded beast snapping at everything around it, be it friend or foe. "This is our town! My town!"_

_Ikharos walked the nullscape. The pristine absolute entranced him, kept him from tearing out what little Light remained in that sad excuse for a human._

_The Hunter grunted. "Not anymore."_

_The magistrate, a dictator of fifty, laughed. "Those gonna be your last words then, boy?"_

_Ikharos studied the movement, watched the cannon rip out of the holster and fire just once. Everyone else just saw the flash._

_"Yours, not mine."_

_The Warlord saw another Light die that day. Fate was a gambit in which there were no safe bets. The Awoken tried their best to traverse that labyrinth, but there were monster in there to hunt the wannabe oracles, creatures whose function vexed. But sometimes, rarely, he saw a pattern in the insatiable unreality._

_He saw the Man with the Golden Gun die that day. He saw the torch pass on to another, growing brighter, casting larger shadows._

_"I'm done here," the Voidwalker growled._

* * *

Ikharos shook his head. History loved its endeavours, but always with a different flavour. There was no flame here, no bright light to lead or cleanse. Only an abyss.

"Enough," he ordered. His helmet magnified his voice. All eyes turned to him. The mob gave way to the man in shining plasteel and pale hadronic cloth. His Lumina was in hand, a mirror to its old counterpart. "Let her go."

"Shut up!" The soldier snarled. "To disobey soldiers of the empire is treason! All you piggies, all treasonous! We'll stick you just like 'em monks! Get back, or we'll-"

The Warlock didn't even need to Blink. He raced forward, broke the arm holding the poor woman, and slammed the guard into the ground. He was alive, groaning miserably, but only just. Ikharos paused. This place was bad for him. It brought him back to those dark days before order, where the only way to make your opinion clear was a bullet between their eyes.

The unconscious man's friends froze up. One of them tried a wild swing with his blade and Ikharos let him. The steel weapon thudded against the Braytech armour and chipped. The Warlock was left entirely unharmed. The two guards stopped trying to kill him. They held out their empty hands and begged for their lives.

The Voidwalker scoffed and left them behind. The mob parted before him without any trouble.

* * *

"You think that might have been overkill?"

"Overkill would have involved disintegrating them."

His Ghost moved her shell in her best impression of a shrug. "Maybe. You don't need to fix every evil, you know. You're not Osiris. You can't be everywhere at once."

"I can still deal with them when they're in reach."

"Suit yourself. Oh, and you do know those guards are probably dead, right?"

Ikharos almost stumbled. "But... I held back. I didn't even touch the other two."

"Oh, you didn't kill them. The village will."

"Did I miss something?"

The Ghost twirled, proud of herself, even if the topic was grim. "I looked around, eavesdropped. These people hate the empire."

"Why?"

"Faith. They had a religion. That broken building? One of their chapels. They believe in the Arcaena or something. No idea. The important thing is that the empire tried to stamp it out, and the people here weren't happy with that."

"I don't like this empire."

"Thinking of replacing it?"

"No," he said firmly. "That's not who I am."

"Used to be a different case."

"I did what I had to."

"Oh, I know. That's why I haven't left."

* * *

Kuasta had a huge river of traffic coming and going throughout its three gates, the long roads filled with folk from the surrounding settlements. Ikharos liked how it was all laid out. There was an order to it. It was designed with practicality in mind.

There were more Imperials at the city and the residents still held that same hatred for the conquerors occupying their lands. Ikharos was wise enough to heed his Ghost's words and avoided starting a fight, for now at least. Fighting three soldiers was different to an army. Killing hundreds, perhaps thousands, was not on his agenda. He just wanted to figure things out while here. A bigger city meant bigger library (he hoped), so that meant more books, which in turn meant more available intel.

The evening was a busy time of the day, as people raced to leave or enter the city before the gates closed for the night. Ikharos blended in with the crowd and traversed the urban environment, finding a semi-respectable inn and paid for a room. The rest of the day and night was uneventful. He meditated until morning.

* * *

The city was about to erupt. No matter where he went, it felt like it was all going to blow up into chaos and bloodshed. It was uncomfortable, to be between the people of Kuast and the Imperials, seen as ally to neither, just a suspicious stranger.

The markets almost made up for that. It was disorderly and full of wonder. It reminded the Warlock of the Last City's Bazaar, back before the Red War. Strange enticing smells filled the air, drawing customers to the stalls selling strange and foreign foods, while the sheen of valuable jewels and metals attracted their own crowds. Bits and bobs like no others were displayed in plenty. Ikharos drifted around, just looking, when a piece of conversation drafted into his helmet's audioreceptors.

"...flute is made from real dragonbone," one merchant proudly exclaimed, holding up an ivory instrument before a very impressed trio of boys. Ikharos instantly changing directions, a hand reaching for his cannon. His eyes narrowed in on the bone. It was already too late, the desire all around was palpable, the beast was already gorging itself and soon it would return with its flesh restored, to further feed off the potential wishes of the-

_It's fake._

The Voidwalker stopped in his tracks. "What?"

_It's a cow bone._

Traveler curse sleazy men and their counterfeits. He sighed in relief. He didn't want to think about how utterly nightmarish that could have turned out. He took a few minutes to calm down. Of all the monsters he had faced, the only ones to come close to the perverse power of the Ahamkara was Xol. He imagined the rest of the Worm Gods were a similar case.

The library was his next priority. A kindly old man pointed him in the right direction, with unusually sad eyes.

He soon found out why. The building had been demolished some time ago, as it had been part of the Arcaena. It was a pity. The structure's surviving foundations showed it might have been three times the size of the library in Teirm, or even larger. All that knowledge destroyed.

His answers might have been in there. He hated that. It was a story with no ending. A puzzle missing a piece. Ikharos felt physically unwell. How could anyone order this?

He retreated to the inn and stayed in his room, reviewing the map of Alagaësia and cleaning his weapons. He felt... lost.

* * *

The wakeup call came in the middle of the night, with a band of soldiers marching outside. Ikharos reassembled his rifle and packed it away within moments. The marching ceased, followed by someone banging on the door of the inn.

"They're not the idiots I thought they were," his Ghost remarked. "They told their friends."

"Carrier pidgeons or old-fashioned messenger?" The Warlock asked, fitting on his helmet.

"I'm leaning towards messenger. They're not _that_ smart."

"Neither are pidgeons."

"Ouch. You've just insulted a legend."

"What do you... oh. But... nevermind."

"Saint's spirit animal is sacred."

"I'm sure it is." Ikharos Blinked outside the back of the establishment. He was quickly running out of cities to stay in.

He made it all of ten paces before he noticed them. Two men in dark robes waited in the next alley. Oh, he was a fool. He had underestimated the people of this planet. They had no Lightbearers, but that wasn't to say they didn't have their own version of Techeuns. He could feel the faint power of the two, weak by his standards, as well as their searching minds. As soon as those mental tendrils felt the defenses around his mind, they retreated swiftly. Now they knew that he knew. No time to waste, then.

Ikharos Blinked once more, grabbing one of the pseudo-Techeuns and threw him hard against the wall of the alley. The second panicked, tried to force a battle of willpower, but the Warlock's consciousness brushed the attempt aside and immobilized that of the Imperial, just as the Guardian grabbed the soldier's shoulder and channeled a brief burst of Light into enough Arc to drop his opponent. It all took no less than two seconds. The Risen regarded the motionless forms with vague curiosity, then bolted. It wouldn't take the soldiers long to figure out he had escaped, and he didn't want to exercise the Void just yet. Too many civilians. He would be the spark to set this city off.

Another man was creeping up to the corner of the alley, keeping close against the building's stone wall, outlined on his HUD. The Warlock readied his knife.

_Not a soldier._

The Warlock burst out and slammed into the stranger, dragged them back into the concealment granted by the alley, and pressed the knife close to the man's neck.

"Silence or death."

The limp forms of the not-Techeuns helped drill home that message. His prisoner shuddered, but the Guardian didn't pay any attention. If he could... yes... that would work. It wouldn't be quiet, but he'd be out of here.

He dragged in as much Void as he dared, enough to level a city block, and forced reality to accept his demand. Space was torn apart and it was _loud_.

* * *

"Speak."

The prisoner was dressed in light black clothes, perfect for stalking the streets unseen at night. Everything about him screamed _thief_. But that didn't explain why he was so close to the inn. Those soldiers were not the subtle type. Near half the city should have heard them. Something was off, he needed more answers, and this man was going to give him all he wanted to hear. Or Ikharos was going to strike out with fury.

The man gulped nervously. He sat by a tree, and though he wasn't tied to it, there was no illusion that he could escape. Ikharos had just teleported them both far out of Kuasta. Perhaps not the most common use of a Super, but so few Warlocks used the Void that they didn't know how easily molded it was. Even now, the Guardian rolled a tiny black hole the size of a marble around his fingers. He had all the power. There was no argument.

"I... uh..."

"We'll start with a name," the Warlock told him.

"K-Kuirst."

"Well, Kuirst, it looks like you're very unlucky. You better give me something good, or you will be erased from existence. Talk."

"A-about what?"

"Hmmm... Dragons."

"Dr-dragons?"

"I won't repeat myself."

"Th-they've been extinct f-for some time, sir. Big beasts, w-with wings and scales."

Ikharos rolled his eyes. "Yes, I think we all know that. Where did they come from?"

"Come from? I-I d-don't know... They've b-been here in Alagaësia since... forever."

"Ah, you see, that doesn't help me in any way. Hmm... how about your king?"

"King?" Kuirst's eyes widened. "You don't work for Galbatorix?"

"Wait, hold on, you thought I worked for your king... and yet all you soldiers, who also work for the king, come to arrest me?"

"I'm not a soldier!" Kuirst's terror melted away, replaced by something else. "We heard about... You're the wizard from Teirm!"

Ikharos paused. "I feel like I've missed something." He extinguished the black hole and sat down opposite Kuirst. "You don't... work for the empire?"

"No!"

"But you were with the soldiers."

"No, I... we heard about the wizard in Teirm and then you arrived in Kalas-"

"Kalas?"

"The village where you-"

"Beat up an Imperial soldier?"

"Yes, and-"

"Who's this 'we'? And don't draw it out."

"Rebels of Kuasta."

"Rebels..." The Warlock nodded. "Of course you're a rebel. Please, continue."

"We noticed your arrival, then received words of your actions in Kalas. Another message had come from Teirm by ship-"

"Psekisk," the Warlock grumbled. "Sorry, please, do go on."

Kuirst looked unsettled by the outburst, but he recovered quickly. "Another message had come from Teirm with orders for soldiers to arrest any man wearing strange armour, as well as news of what occurred. We have friends in the garrison, you see, and we knew you were no friend of the empire, so we-"

"I think I understand." The Risen tilted his head. "But it is very farfetched."

"I'm telling the truth! I'm part of the Varden!"

Ikharos crouched before his prisoner. "There are ways of finding." He held out his hand for his Ghost.

Kuirst flinched. "Wh-what is that?!"

"This? This is Xiān. She will know if you are lying or not."

The Ghost's eye flashed to life, scanning the human in harmless beams of Light. It took mere moments.

"He's a honest guy." She reported.

"Oh."

"You just kidnapped and threatened the life someone who wanted to help you."

"It was in the spur of the moment and I'd just killed two... Kuirst?"

"Y-yes?" The terror was back. It was preferable, in all honesty. Ikharos didn't know what to make of the other emotion. Elation was hardly something he'd link with being snatched by a seemingly all-powerful entity of dubious intentions.

"Those two... things back there, those men, what were they?"

"Mages. O-of the king's employ."

"Ah." Because that made little sense at all. "How did they come by their abilities?"

"M-mages are b-born with it. You a-aren't a mage?"

"No, I'm a Guardian. Lightbearer. So some people are just born with paracausal capabilities? That seems... dangerous."

"The king controls them, b-because he is the most powerful."

"This king of yours doesn't sound very pleasant." _He seems shares many resemblances with the Warlords._

"That is why we rebel." Kuirst struggled to his feet. "I must return, please. My comrades will-"

"Not so fast. I need to learn."

"Pardon?"

"I am investigating something... worrying. I need a library or another place that keeps historical documents."

"We... the people of Kuarst hold faith with the Arcaena. Our Reliquary holds many of the oldest scriptures in all of the empire. I-it is not my decision to make, but if you help us, I will plead your case."

The Warlock smiled. _Finally, some luck._ "That sounds acceptable. Lead the way."


	7. Rebellion I

Kuirst was an idealistic young man who believed in all the propaganda his rebels threw about, and Ikharos knew it even before they reached the base camp of his brothers-in-arms. The fear of the Guardian never left him, but slivers of personality shone through. He was disarmingly optimistic and cheerful, even if it was suppressed by the awe and terror of the Warlock's power.

"How did you do that?" Kuirst asked at last.

"Do what?"

"Move us outside the city."

Ikharos nodded. He liked to encourage others to ask questions, to learn. He loved to teach. "I am a Guardian. I can tap into the power of the Light and exploit the primordial elements of Arc, Solar and Void. As a paracausal entity, I can sidestep the physics of the universe to make my will reality, even if I must destroy the fundamental laws of existence to do so."

"Oh," the rebel said quietly. Ikharos could tell that some of it went over his head.

"Ask me another time, if there is one, and I will try my best to put it in understandable terms."

"What about... Zeen?"

"w?"

"Yes. How did it-"

"She."

"Pardon?"

"Xiān is a she," Ikharos explained. "Ghosts are not objects or drones."

"Apologies, I... how did _she_ know that I told the truth?"

The Warlock clasped his hands behind his back. "The human body is flawed. We are not perfect creatures, and we should be glad for that. Deception is not our forte. She checked the common tells of deception.. Turned out you were telling the truth. It is as simple as that. Now, whether you told an altered version of the truth or not is still up for debate, and I can assure you that I do not take kindly to being deceived."

* * *

The other rebels weren't as easily trusting. As soon as the pair arrived to an isolated barn some dozen leagues away from the city, half a dozen spears were pointed at the Warlock's face. The sun had begun to rise, a bright imitation of that star which fed and sustained the life of Sol.

"Wait, Rendan, it's me!"

"Kuirst? We surely thought the soldiers had caught you!" One of the spearmen dropped his weapon and embraced the Guardian's prisoner-turned-guide. "Thank the gods you're alive! How did..."

The unfamiliar man turned to regard Ikharos. "Is... is this the wizard?"

"It is." Kuirst swiveled to face the Warlock. "He is..."

"Willing to help, on the grounds that some terms of my own are met," Ikharos told them. He removed his helmet, if for no other reason than to put them at ease.

Rendan gestured for the other rebels to put aside their weapons. "Not here. Come, please."

The man retreated into the barn. Ikharos followed, the spearmen at his back, Kuirst awkwardly tagging along.

There were others inside, some armed rebels and others sympathisers of the cause. There was a small fire being fed kindling in the middle, the smoke trailing up through a hole the barn's thatch roof, and a pot of food bubbled over it. Men and woman set to work readying the breakfast while a couple of children squealed happily as a frail old man told them a story in a hushed voice.

The moment he entered, Ikharos became the centre of attention. All eyes were drawn to his armour, or the rifle on his back.

"This is the wizard," Rendan announced. Whispers slithered to life, but the Warlock paid them no mind.

"Is there a leader?" He asked, his eyes trailing over the warriors of the rebellion. If they could even be called that. They had no armour and their weapons were either repurposed farm tools or archaic antiques of a previous age.

"No leader, I'm afraid," the old man in his rocking chair was the first to answer, breaking the nervous silence. His eyes were white and gazed off into nowhere in particular. He was blind. "But Rendan is a former soldier. He knows how to lead."

"This is Ertharis," Kuirst told Ikharos. "He is a monk of the Arcaena."

Rendan leaned his spear against the gate of an empty stable and crossed his arms. "You wanted something in return?"

The Warlock nodded. "I need access to the Reliquary."

The hushed gossip returned. Rendan frowned. "What you ask is not so easily given. The knowledge of the Arcaena is to be safeguarded from threats that would see it destroyed."

"It is of some urgency."

"Is it? I doubt it. Still, it is not in us to grant you this." The rebel leader glanced to the old man.

Ertharis smiled sadly. "Death for knowledge. This transaction is a terrible one, but it is necessary. Do you know why we fight?"

"The empire is trying to destroy your faith and you don't seem to care for that very much. And you want me to help you drive them out."

"There is more than that."

"Is there? I don't think there is." Ikharos ignored the heated looks sent his way. "I want access to your records and you want me to help your cause."

"We have, against our better judgement, allowed you into our midst only for your enmity with the empire, but I still worry that you may be a spy. How can we be sure you are genuine?"

"I think that everyone here is still alive is evidence enough."

Rendan and his men bristled, but Ertharis held them back with a raised hand. "We have no magic here. We have no mages. To you we are helpless. And that is why we need you. The king's hold grows ever tighter. Their men sully our streets, demean our lands and harass our people. With you, we can fight. Without your help, the king's mages will kill us."

"He killed two of them," Kuirst blurted. "In the city. I saw their bodies. And then he... He is powerful. Please, grandfather, let him into the library."

"Kuirst…" Rendan scolded in a warning tone.

The old man thought it over. Seconds passed, then a minute. Ikharos could see the gears turning in the monk's head.

"My grandson is far too trusting," Ertharis said finally. "Yet we have little other choice than to meet your demands. So I ask of you, will you help us?"

Ah. His own dilemma. But no matter how high the price, he needed to achieve what he came for. To safeguard this planet and keep the Hive from further power, he needed to understand how it began. Even if the price was a city full of bodies, this was too important. "I will. To an extent. If I find your actions disagreeable, I _will_ oppose you. That is a promise."

Rendan, his features contorted by hostility and his hand gripping his weapon tightly, growled. "We have no choice, but that does not mean I trust you."

"I don't need your trust. Only your library."

* * *

Ikharos left the barn while the rebels discussed... well, him. They had that right, and he had to respect their wishes.

The lands of Kuast seemed peaceful out in the middle of nowhere. He sat against an apple tree and overlooked the vast grasslands, listening to the singing or clicking of insects and watching, utterly enraptured, as a fox scurried about, looking for prey.

He was joined almost an hour later, when someone vaguely familiar handed him a bowl of stew. She had sharp facial features and brown hair in a loose braid, similar to another, but that wasn't the reason he recognized her.

"Thank you," he said quietly. There was something he just couldn't... "You were in... Kalas. Oh."

"I was," the woman dipped her head gratefully. "Thank you. There was no telling what those soldiers would have done."

The Warlock shrugged. "I did what anyone would have." He turned his gaze back to the distant form of the fox. "Are they dead?"

"I don't know. The militia took their weapons and put them in binds. Rendan collected them."

"I see." He sipped from the bowl. It lacked in a lot of things, but it was decent all things considered. "So you are a rebel?"

"No. I just help from time to time. My brother is of those who fight."

"Is it Kuirst?"

"Yes."

"Ah. Is that why he came for me?"

The woman shrugged. "Perhaps. He loved stories of heroes and magic as a child. I think he believes you are one of those heroes."

Ikharos grunted, neither denying or confirming it.

"He told us you are powerful. That you moved both yourself and him leagues outside the city in an instant."

"Nothing more than an altered version of a Nova Warp."

"What is..."

"A Nova Warp is a common ability employed among Voidwalkers. I am a Warlock, one of three types of Guardians, and we have these different skillsets in which we train. The Voidwalker, like the Stormcallers and Sunsingers, are examples of that. There are guidelines to be followed, but we can break away from that. It is always advisable that younger Warlocks keep to the abilities already discovered and proven as safe, while older and more experienced Guardians experiment with their Light."

"What is Light?"

Ikharos held out a hand, allowing electricity to crackle between his fingers. "That, or-" He exchanged the Arc for a ball of flame. "That. There's more, too. It's an energy Lightbearers can tap into, which is most potent by the Traveler. Void is more viable when we leave Earth behind, as I have."

"You come from another land?"

"... yes." It would probably be easier to go with that assumption.

"And there are other mages from your home?"

"Not here, but yes."

"And do they-"

"Tellesa!" Kuirst called out cheerfully, coming from the direction of the barn. "What brings you... Ah, greetings, Ikharos."

"Kuirst." The Warlock said. "I must apologise for earlier."

The rebel shook his head. "No, the fault is mine, you had not known who I was."

"I still held you at knifepoint, so... sorry about that."

"No harm was dealt."

Ikharos nodded, turned away and began humming an old Golden Age tune.

* * *

The Reliquary was an old monastery hidden in a small valley of the Spine, well hidden from the outer world. It ha a small courtyard where the monks tend to a garden to provide some food, but it quickly became clear that the Arcaena relied on the generosity of the villages below. Ikharos had hiked the peak with Ertharis, Tellesa and another rebel by the name of Tainvay. The Warlock helped the other man carry packs of supplies up the mountain, the bags filled with food and medicinal herbs.

"I know this path," the blind elder hobbled along, Tellesa helping him. "We have arrived?"

"Seems so," Ikharos saw the other man struggling, huffing heavily under the weight of the huge back. The Warlock grabbed one of the shoulder straps and helped the rebel out of it.

"Th... thanks..." Tainvay practically crumpled by a boulder, panting like his life depended on it. "J... just gi… give me a..."

Ikharos lifted the bag effortless and marched ahead. He could feel the rebel's surprised stare on the back of his head.

The small gates of the monastery were already open, a trio of monks waiting for them with welcoming smiles. "Master Ertharis!"

"Yes, yes, I am here," the old man grumbled. "My bones are aching, let me rest."

The two robed men gingerly took the elder's arms and supported him the rest of the walk into the abbey while the third took the second bag off of Ikharos, sparing the Warlock a curious look.

The Guardian took a moment to look around at the other buildings, the gardens and the short stone walls. It was small and far from perfect, but something about it appealed to him. The tactical soldier in him objected to it, pointing out how exposed it was to an aerial attack, but the bookish scholar loved it. It was isolated from the troubles of the world, allowing the monks to write and study in peace.

"The empire doesn't seem so mighty from up here."

Ikharos glanced to Tellesa. "I suppose it wouldn't."

She sat by the wall and watched as the ships, not bigger than a miniscule dots at that distance, sailed in and out of Kuasta's bay. "I would give anything to have my land back."

"I thought the empire began nearly a hundred years ago?"

"Our people never forgot. How the Imperials murdered our duke, burnt down our temples and forced any who fought into slavery."

"They aren't very nice," the Warlock agreed. "But why do you make the extra effort to support this rebellion?"

Tellesa frowned. "They killed my parents."

"Ah. I'm sorry."

She sighed. "It was a long time ago. Why do you oppose the empire?"

He shrugged. "I don't? I'll admit, I'm not overly fond of them, but I can attribute their dealings with me to lack of experience with Guardians. However, their... magic, for want of a better word, is an abomination."

"Do you not wield magic?"

Ikharos shook his head. "Light is different. And Guardians have good reason to use it the way we do. We have too many enemies intent on our extinction. These abilities, here, has nothing to monitor its usage. No Praxic Order to capture and rehabilitate those who use it with ill intent. No Man with the Golden Gun to hunt the monsters down."

She gave him a funny look. "Much of what you speak of makes little sense."

"Sorry. I mean, there's no one to keep order over this power. It's too dangerous."

"It sounds as if you speak from experience."

Ikharos paused. "I was raised in the Dark Age, when Guardians were just Risen and they reigned as petty kings over all those without power. Warlords fought and murdered to their hearts' content. We should have rallied together to fight off the Devils, but we were more preoccupied with killing each other."

"Devils?"

"Fallen. Pirates organised into Houses. The Devils are the worst of the bunch."

* * *

_He looked up and saw the sky falling down on top of him. He couldn't comprehend the darting stars and metal shells shooting above, dancing lower and lower, but the drone who had been there when he woke knew exactly what it was._

_"RUN!" She yelled. He hesitated. Then those steel beetles started dropping monsters with too many arms. That convinced him to move._

_People, squatters in shattered buildings and broken shelters, screamed as the creatures descended on them, killing without mercy._ _The man, who hadn't yet remembered his name, ducked as one monster pounced. Its blades missed, but it ran after him on all six limbs, faster than he could. The man snatched up an old gun from a motionless body with dead eyes and found that he liked how familiar it felt in his hands. He didn't recall a name, but he remembered how to fire a gun._

* * *

"What happened?"

"The Iron Lords rebelled against the Warlords. They had good intentions, but lots of innocent people died in their battles. The Guardians came after, near the end of the Dark Age, and rallied their strength to build and defend the Last City, with walls that would last hundreds of years."

"But..." Tellesa's eyes sharpened. "Hundreds of years... how old are you?"

That took him by surprise. "I... don't know. Three hundred and something?"

"Like the king..."

"Excuse me?"

"The king. He is like you. He has ruled since the creation of his empire, for a hundred years."

 _Warlord._ "That's... odd."

"How is it you live so long?" She questioned.

"The Light sustains me, strengthens me, gave me life. But this... Did... This doesn't make sense. The only humans to ever live so long are Guardians or... people from the Golden Age, but it wouldn't work here, this far from the Traveler… This... I need to think on this."

If Tellesa had been to say anymore, she was cut off by Tainvay, having finally mustered the strength to carry on, stopping next to Ikharos with a wide-eyed expression. "Teach me."

"What?!" All thought processes stopped. "I can't. Light doesn't come to anyone so easily as that."

"Your strength is impossible. I must know how you achieved it.

The Warlock backed away. "Just... eat vegetables or something."

* * *

"Welcome to the Reliquary. " The grinning monk bowed before the Warlock. "Master Ertharis has granted you access to the library."

"I am grateful." Ikharos slowly strolled into the massive study. It looked like all the knowledge of a Cryptarchy was inside, hidden among the thousands of books and scrolls carefully place on dozens of bookcases. "My goodness..."

He didn't know where to start.

* * *

Ikharos began with the hefty read that was _Domia ab Wyrda._ It began with the original natives of Alagaësia, and utterly nothing of the _Exodus Prime_ before it. No Warmind, no colony ship, nothing regarding anything the colonists arrived with. Just about the dwarves and the dragons. He very nearly tore the tome apart. Everything about the dragons was false, leading him to question everything about the dwarves or the beasts of the Beor Mountains. He had to put it aside for fear of losing his temper. It did, however, raise a topic he was intrigued by. The dwarves, like the Urgals, sounded like another race of genetically altered neohumans. The Warlock strived to understand, and he spent the entirety of three days studying all he could find on Urgal and dwarven biology and culture. There were mentions of dragons in those scrolls and texts too, which further irritated the Guardian because they all copied off the same misconception, and he did his best to ignore it.

Dwarves had a monarch and an aristocracy. Urgals had primitive tribes or clans, and their chiefs were chosen by trials of combat and proving. Dwarves were short. Urgals were big. Both had lots of toes. Both hated each other. But, then again, everyone seemed to hate Urgals. It was hard not to, if what he'd seen of them was any reflection of their society.

"How do you fare?" A monk opened the door to the library.

Ikharos grunted. "Alright. I was wishing for more history."

"Can I recommend _Domia ab Wyrda_? It details the history of the peoples of Alagaësia, written by a member of our order."

"I tried, but the history I seek is older."

"I see... I do not know if we have anything of the sort." The monk hesitated. "A messenger came by. Rendan desires your assistance."

So it was time to fulfill his end of the bargain. "I might as well..."

He put away all the books in their proper places (the Cryptarchs had drilled that into his head), then left the monastery to hike down the mountain. The climb down was entirely uneventful, so he used the time to think over what he had read and hypothesize the reasoning for the genetic modifications. He ruled out all of them by the time he reached the bottom of the Spine. Nothing on this world made any sense.

* * *

The barn had more rebels than before, each and every one of them armed with something pointy. Rendan stood in the centre of the crowd, outlining some sort of plan by drawing some shapes in the dirt. Ikharos slipped in unseen and joined Tellesa at the back. She seemed surprised, initially, but regained her composure and refocused on the rebel briefing.

"Why don't you take part?" He finally whispered.

She turned to regard him suspiciously. "What?"

"Why aren't you a rebel proper?" Ikharos murmured. "You have a reason."

"I'm can't," she murmured, as if that explained anything.

"So I've noticed, but that doesn't... Oh." He kicked himself. Of course. It wasn't just technology that had been torn away from these people. If it had been that simple, then they would have rebuilt to some extent. No, valuable knowledge had been lost along with it. All the advancements of their Golden Age society went with it. "Sorry, but that's bullshit. Trust me, that's backwards thinking. I don't think that-"

"Ikharos!" Rendan called. "You've arrived."

The Warlock withheld a sigh. "We'll talk later," he told Tellesa, then walked to the forefront of the crowd. "I have. What requires my presence?"

The rebel looked like he had bitten off something bitter. "Imperials have extended the search for you outside the city. They had taken to raiding the homes of any they sound suspicious, seizing wealth and grain, things they need to survive the winter. They would starve our people. We will take it all back."

"Bold." The Warlock said, if only because he felt like he had to. "Where are they taking it?"

"To Kuasta, to be shipped to fill the Imperial coffers. We will intercept as many carts as we can before then."

"Why not wait until they have it loaded on a ship, then capture it all at once?"

Rendan shook his head. "We have no ships of our own."

"In that case take one. It's a port city, there's bound to be a few ships lying around."

"We do not have the manpower to break through the city."

"You don't need to break through. Only sneak a few people in, find a suitable vessel, and seize it. Admittedly I do not know how to sail a ship, but it shouldn't be very hard."

"That's..." Rendan's words faded away. He looked down, deep in thought, then turned to another man. "Edmont?"

The big man, full of muscle and old scars, rubbed the back of his head. "The wizard ain't wrong. We could sail a ship out, if we slip past them guards. Pick up everyone else at Crista Cove and then chase down the Imperials. But they'd have a lot of soldiers on that ship. It's a big bitch."

"I can deal with the soldiers," Ikharos informed them. "And I can help us get to the ship."

Rendan nodded cautiously. "Are you sure?"

"'Course, mate."

"I am."

The lead rebel scratched his neck. "That changes things. Alright, new plan. We going to..."

* * *

Ikharos had to trade his recognizable armour out for more casual clothes. Xiān gave him the least colourful and extravagant set he had, and it still looked off. Still, they didn't have time to see if the rebels had anything that would fit him. Ripped jeans, leather boots, a pale tunic and a check shirt over that was going to have to cut it. The Warlock just hoped that his wardrobe wasn't too conspicuous.

He, Kuirst, Tainvay and Edmont took an ox-drawn cart to Kuasta the next day and joined the morning traffic. The guards at the gate hardly so much as glanced at them as they were waved through. Their youngest member sighed loudly the second they were through, prompting a smack on the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Kuirst complained.

"Quiet!" Tainvay hissed.

"I was just-"

"You don't see the wizard acting the maggot."

Ikharos leaned back. "I'm screaming hysterically on the inside."

"Wait, really?"

"No."

Edmont snorted. Kuirst looked utterly lost.

They kept on their route, something the rebels had decided on beforehand, and meandered throughout the streets so it didn't look suspicious that they would go straight to the docks. They passed the broken Arcaena chapel, moving the rebels enough that they placed their hands over their hearts for some reason, and then the spot where Ikharos and Kuirst had teleported out. A crater remained, the stone path and walls of the adjacent buildings with chunks just cut away. The Void had devoured, but it was no more sated than before.

Edmont brought the cart to a place on the south end of the city and tossed the coin to a stablehand. The four disembarked and made their way westwards, to the fish markets. The smell of the sea grew in strength until Ikharos found himself at the water's edge, staring at a distorted mirror of himself. It had been some time since he had taken off his armour. There had always been another battle, another fight just around the corner in Sol...

"'ey, look." Edmont nodded to the north, where soldiers had a part of the port cordoned off. A huge vessel floated there, bearing a black and red sail, fitted with ballistae and spear-throwers. "How the blazes are we goin' to take that?"

"I'll disable the defences, if you want," Ikharos offered. "It really doesn't matter if there's no one to operate them."

"He can do it," Kuirst added. "He's like no one else."

"We're trusting you to, or it'll be our hides..." The sailor warned.

The Warlock drank in the sight before him. If they stationed too many soldiers... then the ship might get damaged. Void was easier to control than the fury of Arc, but it would test him to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. He hoped he was up to the task. Letting entire families die of starvation was not on his agenda.


	8. Rebellion II

The carts arrived at midday, each with a contingent of soldiers to guard them, and they were loaded periodically onto the Imperial ship. A small crowd had gathered to watch, fuming, but the sight of pristine steel weapons held them back. The potential of violence could spark both bloodlust and caution in the common person so very easily. Ikharos wondered if that was why humanity made such incredible warriors of Light. They were prone to violence, and there was no hiding that. Then why not the Cabal? Warfare was their pastime. He thought he knew the answer to that too. The Cabal were strong, they had the mindset for warfare, they had the determination, but they were single-minded. They had one tactic: advance. They gave it different names and different shapes, but advance was all they did. Humanity, on the other hand, were divided because of their sheer individuality and stronger for it. They were one species and yet they could think so very differently to one another. Like the Hive, they were blades sharpened on killing their own kind. The Hive weeded out the weak by simply killing them. Humanity culled liabilities by refining tactics and weaponry, having learned from all previous wars. The Hive became gods from their Sword Logic. Warfare encouraged humanity to create its own terrible deities, the Warminds. One fell to the Darkness, and one lifted up to the Light.

The Cabal, the Fallen and all the other sapients of the universe didn't stand a chance. The Warlock could finally understand Ghaul and his Red Legion. They were afraid. The Hive were already at their gates, ravaging their outer territories. Their forward fleets had been crippled by the Guardians of humanity, then finished off by the Hive God-King. They were afraid, caught between two behemoths, two powers they couldn't truly understand. The Fallen knew what was happening. They just wanted to survive. Misraaks made the right choice, the only real choice, for his people. The Fallen could only survive by picking a side. And the Hive was a club with enough members already. Calus and Fikrul tried to join what they saw as the winning team, and look how that worked out for them. The Cabal Emperor was exiled from his throne, his capital world, and his ship suffered attack after attack, devastating his remaining forces. Fikrul needed Hiraks to keep their ties to the Hive, but now only the Archon remained of the Scorn. The Witch-Queen had played them both, used them to test the Light's defenses.

"Is it time?"

Ikharos glanced up. The skies were turning orange as the sun fell away. Perfect. "It is. Come."

He circled around the restricted area, keeping buildings or crowds to mask their movement, and made it to the side of the dock directly north. A huge keep, the Imperial bastion within Kuasta, had walls to keep out the locals and connected to the port where the Imperial ship laid. The mob hadn't spread this way. The sharpened metal points on those walls dissuaded any from attempting to vault them. It also had the effect of necessitating fewer guards, most being reassigned at the port.

Ikharos looked around, then cloaked himself, Blinking across the wall and walking up being a yawning guard. He grabbed the soldier and put him in a choke hold, his grip steel strong, and only let go when the man stopped struggling. He carefully leaned the unconscious guard against a wall and moved onto the next, and then the next, until half a dozen were out cold. Then he redirected the Void into something more physical, lathering the matter-venom over the wall. Stone and metal melted to slag, popped and cracked like burning wood, and fell away. Ikharos snatched away the hungry power as soon as he had made a small gap, enough to fit a human through.

Edmont looked green, but he was the first one to brave the hole, slipping through and drawing a knife on the other side. Kuirst came next, and then Tainvay, all looking at the Warlock expectantly.

"What next?" The sailor-turned-rebel asked.

Ikharos twirled around and began walking in the direction of the port. The huge hulk wasn't the only ship the Imperials had, and their focus on it meant there was just a skeleton crew keeping watch on the others. A small sharp-nosed knarr caught their eye, close to the keep, and it was the unanimous choice. The Voidwalker brought the cloak back, trying his best to cover them all, instructing them to stay close. It kept them out of sight, but only muffled their sounds, so there was the added risk of a rebel being unintentionally loud. They had to give what Imperials they found a wide berth, but there weren't any complications. Kuirst had almost tripped, but Tainvay had roughly grabbed the young man and kept him on course.

The knarr had three guards. Ikharos brought the rebels to a pile of crates, left them there to hide, and took care of the Imperials. It was ridiculously easy. If it had been Fallen, they would have detected him within minutes. Here, at this time of the day, all those on shift were tired and bored, as well as finding it difficult to ascertain much in the glaring light of the setting sun, or the deep shadows it cast.

Perhaps humanity wasn't as powerful as he thought...

Edmont ran down the gangplank as soon as the coast was clear and looked around. "This beaut…"

"Can you sail it?" Kuirst asked.

"Of course. As long as you do as yer told."

"Ah, feck," Tainvay cursed. "I get seasick."

"Then why'd you volunteer?"

"I thought the wizard could do something about it..."

"Seasickness is beyond me," Ikharos told them. "But count yourself lucky you haven't experienced warp sickness. I've heard vomit and zero g environments don't mix."

"What?"

"It's... nothing."

"Look!" Kuirst half-yelled, half-whispered. His finger pointed further down the port. The sails of the hulk had been raised halfway, allowing the weak gales to catch it, and a dozen rows of oars sprouted out to clear it away from land. It was slow but purposeful, a creature of immense physical strength, powering over the water. "There must be an army in there!"

The Warlock frowned. "Psekisk."

"What?"

"Get the oars," Edmont ordered.

"No," Ikharos said. "Sails. I'll give us wind."

"But... fine. Sails. Come on lads, let's get to it."

They required a few minutes to drop the sails, but it was necessary. The Warlock's Light was running low and he needed a brief pause to consolidate it. He could give them a gale, but from then on he'd be restricted to Void, which would make seizing the ship... tricky. He drew his knife as Xiān put him back in his Braytech suit, and his sight trailed over the Hunter symbol, as well as the arrow etched on above it. It might be easier not to use the Void at all.

Ikharos called the faintest hint of a storm, and an unusually strong wind blew in. Edmont cut the ropes holding them to the pier and the ship almost shot away. A faint cry raised up behind them, but it was too late for the Imperials to stop them. They raced off over the waters, spent half an hour sailing to the cove north of the city, and wasted another fifteen minutes as rebels waded out to board their stolen vessel. Rendan clapped him on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear, and left the surprised Guardian to help Edmont bring order to the confused band of guerrilla fighters. Then they were off, his power over Arc accelerating them fast to that growing shape of the hulk.

A bell was rung on the larger ship as the lookouts spotted the knar, but by that point they were in range. Ikharos Blinked onto the deck of the huge vessel, not hesitating to grab the guard making the racket and slamming him face first into the mast. The guards shouted in surprise, but he was already among them, punching and kicking with deadly precision, each hit breaking bones and disabling opponents. One tried to grapple his arms from behind, but it was almost comically slow to the Guardian, his senses sharpened by Light, his muscles strengthened by the Traveler's touch, and he Blinked once more, his willpower as much a weapon as his guns. He kicked the soldier, hard, sending the poor guy tumbling. A sword came at him, so he took his knife and sliced through it and then the offending hand.

A now familiar nagging sensation pulled at his attention, and the Warlock turned on the robed mage with a vengeance, his mind ripping the magician a new one. _That_ Imperial he used a palm strike on, unleashing an Atomic Breach to completely eradicate the man. The other soldiers stopped fighting at that point. They froze up and stared with frightened eyes.

"Off," Ikharos growled. They were quick to obey. A smart few tossed over a rowboat, but some just jumped off in their panic.

"Ger' off!" He heard from below. The Warlock, curious, glanced over the side just as Edmont kicked a drenched soldier from the side of the knar. "Swim back to yer nests, water rats!"

Ikharos shook his head and delved deeper into the ship as the rebels started to align the boats, finding more soldiers coming his way, attracted by the noise. Some he fought in swift one-sided brawls, but others saw the sense in dropping their weapons. He gave them the same message he had given the others. They scurried off to comply. He continued on, to the row galley, where he knew many more awaited his judgement.

He entered the room and someone tried to shank him. Ikharos broke the hand that held the knife, then sunk it into the soldier's heart. Another rose behind him, so he just conjured the Void around his flattened hand and sharpened it, stabbing the makeshift blade of angry violet energy into the Imperial's abdomen.

He expected more fights, but none came. No, two dozen frightened faces stared back at him, belonging to thin men chained to benches. That... he didn't expect.

Slaves.

It wasn't a new concept. Bandits and Warlords had employed such tactics, and he had found evidence that the House of Kings did it on occasion (though the humans would only last a few days under the harsh alien captors). Still, in a world as stable as this... but then again, it was a Warlord's stability, wasn't it?

Ikharos waved his hand and the Void lashed, snapped the manacles holding the slaves down. They flinched and scrambled away, but he made no further move. Instead, he gave them a message. "You're free now. There are rebels here."

A clatter from behind. Tainvay emerged with a bloodied sword pilfered from a body, took in the sight before him, then nodded. "It's your lucky day! We're here to save yer arses!"

Satisfied the rebel had it under control, Ikharos left to check the other cabins and decks. A few Imperials hid about, and a small group even barricaded a door, but the Warlock dealt with them all. The ship was theirs.

* * *

They brought the ships to a small hidden bay far north of the city, along the colossal headland dominated by a branching limb of the Spine, which they had decided on beforehand. Both ships, knarr and hulk, were a success in themselves, both as symbols and as resources, but the addition of the stolen goods and the freed slaves made it all the sweeter. They carried the cargo to shore with the knarr and two remaining rowboats, as the hulk was too large to come any closer than where it was already anchored. Kuirst raided the captain's cabin with a few others, killed the Imperial officer hiding there, and brought out the collection of expensive wines from Belatona for their short victory celebration. Ikharos snatched a bottle and nursed it as the night carried on and the rebels laughed and celebrated. The slaves, starved and beaten, were elated to finally be rid of the shackles around their ankles. They practically begged to join the rebels.

Rendan joined the Warlock at the edge of the bay, watching the light of the flickering campfires reflect off the calm waters. They stayed there, content with the quiet, until the rebel at last said, "You did well."

"I keep my word," Ikharos replied. "Besides... I think it was the right thing to do."

"You aren't sure, after all you've seen the empire do?" The rebel's eyes boggled in disbelief.

The Warlock shrugged. "I've seen worse and had to go along with it. Where I come from, cruelty is as common as dirt. It's true evil we have to watch for. Not to belittle your struggle, but the empire is small fry."

"Then why are you here, and not fighting your foes in your own land?"

"Because I'm afraid that they might find your land and use it to increase their own power, which would mean the destruction of my people. A lot of things don't add up here, but that's why I have to keep it from them. They are the worst of all living things, the most monstrous things to ever draw breath." He sipped from his bottle. "At the very least, they aren't here yet."

Rendan fixed him with a thoughtful look. "You are strange, but I am glad you fight with us."

"Trust me yet?"

"Never."

The two chuckled and clinked their bottles together.

* * *

Ikharos laid on the cold grass and gazed up at the stars. Xiān chased away the fireflies and then decided to join him. They stayed there for some time, happy to share each other's company, the calm only ever broken by short exchanges. Sometimes they didn't need to talk to understand one another. A side effect of working together for centuries. Their relationship wasn't without its hiccups, but they worked well together.

"There's nothing to help us in the Reliquary."

Xiān buzzed around his head. "Sure isn't. But you're going to stick around anyways."

"And why is that?"

"Beeecaaaause you're a big softie. These are nice people and you won't let them die."

"You think so?"

"After Six Fronts, you swallowed your pride and led your people to the safety."

"I didn't have a choice. A Hive Seeder fell on my fortress."

"You protected your people from Devils and renegades all the way to Normandy."

"Not all."

* * *

_"Holy shit. That's a lot of people. Where'd you even find that many?"_

_The Warlock glared at the Hunter. "They were mine."_

_She paused. "Your slaves?"_

_"My duty."_

_"Ah, I get it. Cool." She nodded and looked past him, to the extraction point. The refugees, those who could still go on, were being loaded onto Hawks. The others had Warlocks tending to their wounds or treating their illnesses. He'd tried to do it, on the road, but it had been hard. Sometimes he had to choose between using his Light to heal or to destroy. To fix a limb or cut down an incoming Devil. Save a life or destroy a Walker. He could still see her, a desperate mother with a shock dagger sticking in her side. It had torn him apart to leave her for dead._

_At least the boy had survived._

_Ikharos let out a breath he had been holding in for far too long. For weeks of fighting and leading._

_"Where're you off to next? To find another batch?"_

_The Warlock growled. "There's new beasts in my house. I'm going to kill them."_

_The Hunter didn't look so comfortable anymore. "I wouldn't go after those critters if I were you. Saint says they're bad news."_

_"I don't care."_

_"Geez. Intense much? Listen, this doesn't have to be the end. We all have a duty, whether we like it or not, but we can shoulder it together. What do you say?"_

_"It won't survive."_

_"The City?" He could hear the frown in her voice. "Why bring them?"_

_"There was nowhere else."_

_"Then why not come along?"_

_"There's three-eyed freaks on my land. I'm taking it-"_

_The boy wandered over and hugged his leg, wide-eyed, still terrified of the jumpships. "Können wir jetzt gehen?"_

_He didn't have an answer for that._

_The Hunter laughed. "I think he's decided for you."_

_Ikharos couldn't argue, as much as he wanted to prove the Hunter wrong. If it took everything he had, he would make sure the child would grow up in safety. "Wir gehen in eine Stadt. Es wird Spaß machen, ja?"_

_"Ja..."_

_The Hunter stuck out her hand. Her Ghost appeared over her shoulder, flexing its green shell nervously. "Name's Lennox."_

_"Go away."_

_"Nice to_ _meet you, Go Away. This little guy is Gecko."_

_His own Ghost, prompted by innocent curiosity, materialised and floated forwards for a closer look. The green one flew away. The Hunter found it all very humorous. "Sorry, he's shy. Who are you?"_

_His Ghost huffed. "Just Ghost."_

_"Yeah... no offense, but you guys need to work on the name department."_

* * *

"You get what I mean. You tried to protect them all, in any case. You can do some good here."

"Maybe..." Ikharos trailed off. He was done with talking.

* * *

"How will you get this back to the families?" The Warlock asked, looking over all the boxed goods.

"Quietly," Tellesa deadpanned.

"Sounds dangerous."

She gestured to the other non-combatants. "This is how we contribute. We're the link between the people and the Varden."

"What is the Varden, in any case?"

"The rebellion as a whole. People from all over hate the empire. Most are forced to flee, but the Varden has agents and organisations all over Alagaësia."

"So all this... is just one of the Varden's cells?"

"Yes."

"Hmm..." Ikharos nodded slowly. "I can see the advantage in that."

* * *

"The Imperial stranglehold has tightened." Rendan looked all around at the gathered rebels. "They're inspecting everyone who enters and leaves the city, increasing the village garrisons and road patrols."

Kuirst grinned. "They're getting scared!" A cheer accompanied his statement.

Rendan waited until the noise died down before he responded. "Maybe. Regardless, it means it will be harder to strike again. Even so, if we pull off another victory, we can show that the Imperials aren't as strong as everyone thinks. We have proper weapons now, and new friends," he nodded in the direction of the former slaves, who were slowly but surely recovering from their time in captivity, "and we have Ikharos. But don't think this has gone unnoticed. The harder we hit them, the more desperate they'll get, and that's dangerous. Everything we do from now on has to be big, has to be precise, and most importantly, has to be successful."

"What can we do?" Someone called from the back.

Rendan grabbed a spear and started sketching out a rough map of the Kuastan area. "Here-" he stabbed the staff down where the city would be. "-is the heart of the Imperial power in the region. The bastion is the very centre of that. That's our end goal. Their control sweeps out-" he drew lines and created more dots to detail major roads and villages. "-all across. If we try and disrupt that, free a village, their army will storm in, kill everyone, and raze it to the ground. But every Imperial operation comes from their home, the bastion. Without it, they would beare lost and directionless."

"We can't hit the city!"

"Not yet. Not without the people. We have their support, but we need their faith. They're too scared to stand against the soldiers. But if we can rally them... an angry mob would occupy the Imperials, distracting them long enough for us to cut off their head. Lord Madlin never leaves the protection of his bastion, thinking it impenetrable, but it will be his greatest and final mistake."

"How do we rally the people?"

Rendan smiled darkly. "I've been speaking with Ikharos about this. We have an idea."

* * *

The Warlock forcibly slowed his movements, but he still managed to dart through his opponent's guard and give him a whack.

"OW!" Kuirst complained.

Ikharos stepped back and readied his stance. "Too slow. Again."

The young rebel scowled but picked his staff back up, holding it in the loose two-handed grip the Warlock had taught him. Just because the rebels had swords now didn't mean they knew how to use them. Ikharos was no Shaxx, and his teachings had never involved fighting before, but he knew how to use a sword. He had been around when they briefly became popular among Guardians. It was back to guns a few years later, but some kept their old blades, those who understood the power a blade had, how it connected wielder and weapon in a way few firearms ever could.

The rebel moved, predictably. Ikharos met the strike with his own staff, redirected the attack, and slammed the end of the stick as gently as he could into Kuirst's stomach. The rebel still crumpled up, utterly winded.

"Sorry," the Warlock said without meaning it. And he tried to make that as obvious as he could. There was no motivator quite like anger. "And yes, to answer your question, no, we will not fight anyone."

Tellesa crossed her arms. "Why?"

"Our intent is to send a message, not to kill off a few pawns."

"The Imperial army is filled with pawns of the king. They all need to go."

"They won't be pawns of the king if they can't receive his orders. If we manage this right, we'll control the bastion and the port with it, then the city. What Imperials remain will be surrounded by enemies. Most will surrender. I've seen it before."

* * *

_The Centurion was big, strong, and like all Cabal, more likely to hit first, then ask questions. The very best of the brutes liked to hit first, and then maybe hit some more. Ikharos was pretty sure that's how their officers proved themselves worthy of promotion. Still, the Sand Eaters had the intelligence necessary to pin him down with heavy fire before he could activate a Super, while their commander brawled it out with Jaxson. It was a no holds barred fight, full of bone-breaking blows. The guns went forgotten, as the heavily armoured human went for a smackdown with the heavily armoured Cabal._

_In the end, it could have only gone one way. Jaxson smashed the big brute's skull in with a red boulder. The gunfire faltered. Ikharos peeked over his cover - a dead Vex Minotaur - and spotted the formation grumbling. He saw an opportunity and took it, rising up and calling upon the Arc, letting a lightning storm burst from his hands. Phalanx shields cracked, pressurised suits burst open, and aliens died. Not all, but most._

_He fell down onto the ground before the survivors; a Legionary and a Psion. The Psion, somehow the braver of the two, raised its weapon, but the slug rifle spat sparks and refused to fire. The Cabal didn't even have a weapon. His shotgun had shattered in the chaos of the Storm Trance._

_Ikharos leveled the barrel of his Zen Meteor with the bigger alien's head._

_"Where's the Fallen?" He asked in Ulurant._

_"That a way, ser. Them's Eliksni started campin' in the ol' factory."_

_The Psion snapped out something. The high-pitched voice was beyond comprehension, even if it was Ulurant._

_"Not now, Samma!" The Cabal scolded._

_The Warlock considered the two. "You should never have come to this system. Go on."_

_The aliens booked it._

_The Cabal never had a word for retreat. Humanity had to teach it to them._

* * *

"They'll still be dangerous."

"An unorganised force is easy to mop up." Ikharos picked up Kuirst's staff and tossed it to her. She caught it deftly, but looked bewildered.

"I don't fight."

"If you're so focused on seeing the Imperials slaughtered, you should be prepared to do it yourself. Kuastan independence won't be handed over to you on a silver platter. We all have to get our hands dirty."

Tellesa set her jaw and moved into the same stance Kuirst had. Her brother was still groaning pitifully on the ground, totally ignored by the two.

Ikharos began a mock attack, which she met with steely determination. He feinted next, and she very nearly blocked the third strike, which tapped her on the shoulder. "A good start. Let's do that again. Never fully invest into offence or defence, or you'll be caught out. The weapon you hold in your hand is an infinitesimal edge, a narrow line between life and death. If you don't balance upon it, you'll fall into the beyond."

* * *

Getting into Kuasta for a third time was difficult for the constant searches of every cart and bag, but considering they carried no weaponry, it was easier than it should have been. There was no dallying around now. Rendan led the way, Tainvay and Ikharos following close behind. They marched straight to the ruined Arcaena chapel and waited for midday, when the city would be busiest. The lead rebel clambered onto the collapsed wall of the stone ruin, took a deep breath, and then began his speech. Ikharos discreetly adjusted how the sound waves traveled, increasing his volume to reach further. It caught attention very quickly. People stopped to listen, to nod along.

"Kuastans!" Rendan yelled. "My dear Kuastans! What has happened to us?! For generations, since our ancestors settled these lands, we kept our peace with one another! We accumulated all knowledge and held it dear! Where is this knowledge, this vast collection of learning?! Where is the Arcaena, who held vigilance over the chapels, to preserve our wisdom?! One day, be it in a few weeks or a few centuries, the end will come and those who remain will need all they can to survive the terrible new lands forged from our ashes, to rebuild anew! Where is it?!"

Someone in the distance shouted. An Imperial soldier, held back by the press of the mob. His voice was mere squeak compared to that of Rendan. Ikharos ensured that.

"I stand here, on the remains of Kuasta's greatest chapel, its greatest library! Heslant the Monk was killed here, in this very spot, burned at the stake for writing a book! A _book!_ Dead! And at whose feet does this travesty lie?! Galbatorix! Galbatorix the Oathbreaker! Galbatorix the Betrayer! Galbatorix the Mad!"

It didn't take long to capture the hearts and minds of everyone around. Men, women and children of all walks of life listened closely, enraptured. The crowd kept growing.

"His dogs have killed our monks! Burned our chapels! Destroyed our ancestor's knowledge! They murdered our Duke! They starve and enslave our people! No more will we stand by! This is Kuasta, our land, our HOME! I will fight until my dying breath to rid our land of the Imperial poison!"

"Out of the way!" An Imperial serjeant, followed by a contingent of soldiers, shouldered through the masses with his sword raised in the air. "OUT of the _WAY!_ "

"Time's up," Ikharos grabbed both rebels by the arm and unleashed his Super, teleporting them far outside the city. Tainvay threw up and Rendan blinked rapidly, but they were all safe and sound.

The rebel leader exhaled nervously. "Do you think that did it?"

"It was full of passion. People like that. Tainvay?"

The man in question coughed. "I..." He resumed emptying his stomach


	9. Rebellion III

_They were twelve and the Iron Lords were nine. Ikharos watched the one opposite him, garbed in chainmail and cloak. Her helmet had a horsehair plume, like some sort of badge. He knew her kind. Good with knives. But what was a knife to the ravenous beyond? Not much, he reckoned. But she wasn't defined by a knife and he wasn't just a wielder of the Void. No. They had guns. That would be how this would settle. With bullets and charged plasma._

_Persaeus spat on the no man's land between them. His fire was already burning, melting the frost at their feet into slippery puddles. One of Radegast's lackeys snorted derisively. Ikharos almost attacked then and there, almost cut down the upstart, but Socrates touched his arm. He calmed. The older Risen was right. This was not a fight they should rush into._

_Footsteps behind them. Shaxx circled around the Warlords and looked at each of them in turn. "People are going to die."_

_"Them." Persaeus took one step forward and-_

_Shaxx knocked his head clean off. The self-styled King of the Ishim's body slumped over. The horned helmet lifted up to regard the rest._

_"Leave."_

_Socrates sighed and threw Persaeus' body onto his Sparrow. The dead man's Ghost piloted it. Ikharos took one last glance back at the mountain, at Shaxx and his new friends, and went home._

* * *

It really didn't take much to set Kuasta off. Not even a day later and the rebels were receiving reports of mass riots all across the land. Village militia, with the full support of their kin, turned on the Imperial garrisons. Rendan's men were hard at work to reach each settlement and help as best they could, but not all were victories. Melbet and Relhin had been overcome by the Imperial soldiers and locked down. Cabadh had been razed to the ground.

Ikharos didn't react. He was being held in reserve. They had to get the timing right. The violence continued to escalate over the next two days. Most of the settlements were released of Imperial control and the soldiers couldn't do anything about it. The majority of the army was in Kuasta, preoccupied with trying to keep the mob from overrunning everything within those walls. The diversion could be exploited, but they needed to wait for the right time. The Warlock, Rendan, and the inner circle of the rebels were going to stage an incursion and thus made the necessary preparations, moving closer and closer to the city.

The Warlock just waited for the word.

* * *

Kuirst and Tellesa found him at a small freshwater pond polishing his sword. It was an imitation of the Hive cleaver, but it was refined with Light and superior materials. The hadium blade was the same, but his was clean and well-maintained, with an edge laced with carbon nanotubes that channeled thermal energy at temperatures over three-hundred degrees Celsius and golden spinmetal to reinforce the lightweight frame. It was the Eternity Edge, a hungering blade, and he had made it to kill the servants of the Darkness. He had forged it with Mare Ibrium fresh on his mind, still remembering the sight of Wei Ning impaled on Crota's blade, the scream of Erianna-3 ringing in his ears. It took a lot not to march right into the Consensus and declare a return to the old ways. Shaxx had warned them, before they took an army off to fight the Hive.

It didn't matter. The past was the past and the dead were dead.

"That sword!" Kuirst exclaimed. He plopped down next to the Warlock and shamelessly gawked at the weapon. "It's incredible!"

"It is..." Tellesa looked at him dubiously. "You did not arrive with it."

Ikharos shrugged. "I've got an armoury's worth of weapons just in case. The things I carry are the tools I rely on. This... I haven't used in a long time. I think it was a Fallen Kell on Venus. Yeah, that makes sense. I hate Venus. Too manyVex and Wolves and Ahamkara bones." He lifted up the sword effortlessly and looked down the blade. The edge was so sharp it cut the air, cut the sunlight, cut everything it touched. It was a heavy tool of death to carry, all that hadium in one primitive weapon, but in his hands it was as light as a feather. "I made it after my people lost a battle. We took hard losses. So we prepared for the next fight, did our research, and designed weapons to surpass those wielded by our foes. This is the result of my desire for vengeance. A blade to take to the monsters of the night..."

The Guardian stood and swung the weapon. It passed through nothing but air, and left a hazy trail of heated gas after it. "I might pick up the sword again."

"You will have the chance to use it soon. Rendan wants you."

The Warlock lowered the weapon. "It's time then? Good."

* * *

The gates were unguarded, as the soldiers had higher priorities; the city was tearing itself apart. Ikharos looked around the near- empty cobblestone streets. He could smell the smoke from the fire to the east, hear the din of protests to the northwest. He ignored it all. He, and the rebels with him, knew where the bastion was. The angry Kuastans had gathered before the portcullis of the fortress and were yelling at the Imperials hiding behind the defenses. Many had picked up farm tools and kitchenware to substitute weaponry, but with this many people even these second-rate blades and spears could be used effectively.

The Warlock wore his armour and carried his own kit, sword in hand and guns holstered. He went unnoticed in the sea of angry faces, all aimed towards the soldiers manning the walls. Archers held bows fitted with arrows, but had not yet drawn. They were afraid, Ikharos could tell. The people they had been policing had just risen up against them in force.

"What now?!" Edmont asked, yelling to be heard over the sheer volume of the mob.

Rendan jutted a thumb towards the metal gate. "We need to get inside, before they start a slaughter! Ikharos, can you-"

The Warlock had already Blinked past the defences inside the gate house and thrown a guard inside down on the floor hard enough to hear a crack. He planted his sword in the stone beside him and started rotating the winch up. The portcullis slowly inched up and up, and with a great cheer it was opened enough for the rebellion to storm in. Two more soldiers raced into the gatehouse. Ikharos drew his Lumina and fired twice, dropping them both.

The fortress was still protected, with a moat fed by the sea and more steel-wrought barriers past those small drawbridges. It was one of the larger buildings he had seen on this world, but nothing like the strongholds his kind used to have. At least the army was divided. Many had been stationed on the outer defenses and were now fighting a losing battle with the commoners, but hebut the he and a few rebels ignored them.

"The top," the Warlock said, pointing to the tower over the bastion, where distant figures watched from the battlements. Rendan nodded and ordered a small group to reinforce the mob. He then held onto the Warlock's shoulder, as per Ikharos' instruction, and the Guardian teleported them onto the top in a rather explosive entrance. The nearest Imperial soldier was sent flying by the force of it, and the others were inhibited by the buffeting winds courtesy of the Guardian's arrival. The rebel sprung into action and cut down the soldiers without mercy. The Warlock located the hatch leading down into the building and rushed inside, the Rendan hot on his trail.

He ran down the corridor and slammed into a group of Imperials coming around the corner. Ikharos didn't freeze up, just redirected his movements, and his sword swung with flashes of violet, killing all but one within seconds. That Imperial he grabbed and pressed against the wall.

"Where's Lord Madlin?"

"Th-th-that way!" The Imperial pointed to where he came from. "D-d-downstairs, in h-his office."

Ikharos bolted down the hallways and the stairs, leaving the rebel to dispose of the soldier. He found more guards at the bottom.

* * *

Lord Madlin chugged from the wine bottle, looking hopelessly outside the window of the fortress onto the streets and outer walls below. Ikharos wasn't exactly quiet entering the room, but the man didn't acknowledge his presence. The Warlock grabbed a wooden stool and sat down, at ease, and waited for the rebel to arrive. He'd left an easy trail to follow.

Rendan joined them a few minutes later, his sword stained red, and his eyes instantly locked onto the form of the noble. "Lord Madlin."

Madlin turned around. He was a heavyset man with dark bags under his eyes and his hair going grey. He didn't look very surprised. The Lord gestured to the outside and laughed humourlessly. "I have you to thank for this?" His eyes darted over to Ikharos. "You and the wizard."

"This isn't your city anymore."

Madlin shook his head. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I don't imagine I'll survive, will I?"

"No."

"Barbarians. The empire is order. Your Varden will tear down all we've built!" He yelled, but his fire just ran out. "It doesn't matter. The king knows what is happening. He will stamp this rebellion out very soon." He refocused on the Warlock. "You've caused me great hassle, you know. My mages, taught by the king, dead. They were of his Hand. I doubt he will be pleased. He will have his hunters after you, now. You've made a terrible enemy."

"I'm not sure you quite understand what I am," Ikharos breathed softly.

The nobleman grinned. "It doesn't matter. They're already coming. I've served for thirty years, so I know a defeat when I see one. I must applaud your efforts, but I'm afraid you've damned yourselves." He drew a knife. Ikharos leapt up, thinking the Imperial intended to kill Rendan, but the nobleman instead turned it on himself. It was not an easy death.

Rendan paused. His previous bravado seemed to melt away. "He really seemed to believe that..."

"The port is close to being yours. The Imperials won't be able to field an army easily. It would cost them too much for land they will never be able to truly control."

"Yes... yes, you're right." The rebel nodded to himself. "What do we do next?"

"Secure the city. Then liberate any villages still under their control."

"Will you help us?"

There was only one answer to that. "Yes. I intend to finish what I began."

"I... thank you. None of this would have been capable without you."

The Warlock shrugged. "I am a Guardian. This is what I'm meant to do."

* * *

Kuasta turned into a slaughterhouse. The soldiers were soundly routed. Ikharos cleared out the bastion from the inside, taking away their only stronghold in the area, and the rest either surrendered or fled to the fortified villages under the control of their fellows, and most of those did not get far.

The Kuastans were a vengeful people. A century's worth of hatred was unleashed. Ikharos liked their open-minded personalities, their appreciation for professionalism and knowledge, but even they could be pushed to the brink. On the plus side, they had enough common sense to know when to stop. Considering most villages and the city were free, they felt at ease, but many volunteered to join Rendan's rebellion proper to reclaim Relhin and Melbet.

Ikharos laid back for the next few days and watched from a distance. The Kuastans were free to choose their own fate. He could only offer support and advice. He felt the urge to move on, head for the next settlement in his search for understanding and wash his hands of this, but he needed to remain if only to ensure that stability returned to the region.

* * *

They began with Melbet. The Imperials inside had erected barricades of upturned carts and wood ripped from houses. They were trained soldiers in a defensible position with quality equipment and experienced leadership. The rebels gathered by Rendan outnumbered them, but they were not used to the weapons and armour they had looted from Imperials, and few had any knowledge on how to wage a war. They were fortunate that their leader was one of those few, having been conscripted into the Imperial army for many years some time ago. Ikharos was surprised to find himself spending time discussing tactics with the rebel leaders rather than doing any fighting. This operation posed an opportunity for the Kuastans, to train in live warfare and learn to better fight off any future Imperial incursion. He couldn't disagree with that logic, considering he was having thoughts of leaving. He exercised his experience during the Dark Age to instruct those Rendan assigned as officers in common military manoeuvres and familiarise the volunteers with the realities of conflict.

They took it with ease. Ikharos blasted open the barricades with a simple scatter grenade and the rebels poured onto the disorientated Imperials. It was over within an hour, with the remaining soldiers rounded up to join their captive comrades in the bastion's dungeons. The villagers were lucky to have escaped the wrath of the empire's men, with only minor wounds and a couple tales of harassment. He hoped the next settlement would be so easy.

* * *

Tellesa accompanied Kuirst to the next training session. The Warlock was happy to see it. She had the attitude and traits of a fighter, and the makings of a leader, but she was held back by her society's expectations. He hoped his influence on this region would change a few things. She still had a ways to go to be a soldier, though. A fight was one thing, but to survive a war you needed to get strong, get in shape, and get used to running.

"Who taught you to fight?" She inevitably asked. They were all curious, but few asked the right questions. The rebels wanted magic. She wanted information.

Ikharos half-shrugged, still locked in combat with another recruit. "Fallen. And the lessons were bloody. I don't blame them, though."

"Why?"

"They wanted to survive. So did I and my people. We fought for the right to survive. I just figured out how to win those fights, after some trial and error." He swept the rebel's legs from under him. "This is much safer, but slower. Fear can speed things along."

"You were afraid? You don't seem that way now."

"Every opponent I killed, there was a bigger one waiting down the line. Always another challenge. It's gotten to the stage where I can almost always expect to fight something bigger than my jumpship every few years. It's... annoying."

* * *

Rehlin was no different to Melbet. Weak barricades, fortified position, about to turn into an easy victory for Rendan. The rebels could put the village to siege, but the burhs had supplies for just the occasion. And the soldiers likely wouldn't share with the Kuastans inside. Thus, the tried and proven method of blowing up their defences and letting the rebels learn how to fight.

There was a small... he hesitated to call it a party. A feast, maybe. All Ikharos knew was Tellesa brought plates with cuts of beef and two mugs of ale up to where he sat on the palisade and joined him in watching the setting sun. The region was peaceful. The people were free of the Imperial oppressors and free to continue supporting the Arcaena. There were still logistical problems, but that would be left for a fellow named Eist. He had been one of the slaves in the hulk's galley, and he had since displayed a skill with such matters. He would have made an excellent military officer, if his leg hadn't been broken too many times in captivity. He had a limp that undermined his potential in military matters, at least in the field, but it made him perfect for helping the Kuastans restore order and structure to their land.

"What will you do now?" Tellesa asked out of the blue.

The Warlock waved in the direction of the spine, northeast of them. "I'll head that direction, I think. The Reliquary is impressive, but it doesn't have what I want."

"You won't stay?"

"I'm afraid my search continues."

There was a lull in conversation. She switched topics. "I've heard you speak of other warriors like yourself, and the people you protect, but don't you fight for your family?"

Ikharos shook his head. "Guardians don't have any natural family, save those they choose. We're raised by our Ghosts with no concrete memories, only vague recollections of concepts and skills from our previous life. But we can forge ties with those around us, those we care for, though one should be wary. A Risen's life isn't an easy one."

"Why is that?"

"There are a few I held ties with. There was this child, Josef. His mother died on the road to the Last City. It was my fault. I was trying to keep a horde of hungry Devils off our backs and... there were too many. We couldn't do anything but keep going. I promised her that the boy would survive. I kept that promise. He was taken in by a kindly family in the City. I checked in on him, sent him some presents whenever a holiday or birthday came up - usually souvenirs I'd pick up from all around - and tried to teach him a few things." Ikharos smiled ruefully. "He was a brat. Utterly spoiled with affection. He straightened out, though, and I was proud of that. I watched him grow, fall in love, start a family, design custom Sparrows that sold for a tidy sum, grow old and die."

The Warlock paused. "I watched his children grow, some of them fell in love and started families, and continued the family business and died. I watched their children. And their children. And their children. They grew, they lived, and they died. Each and every one of them."

"I'm... sorry."

"Hm?" Ikharos shrugged. "It doesn't really matter to me. If I couldn't take the loss, I'd never have lasted as long as I have. There are others. Lennox was one. She was a Guardian, raised on the tail end of the Dark Age. Really dodged a bullet there. We met when I delivered Josef and the other refugees to the airport in Normandy. We didn't get along at first." A strong pulse needled at him. "Okay, I didn't get along with her. She didn't mind. I think she was excited to meet a real life Warlord. Weren't all that many at the time. Iron Lords, Devils and the sudden onset of Hive wiped most of them out. Don't ask me how, but I joined up with her crew for a few missions, all Hunters. We turned into a fireteam... They're easy to get along with. Other Warlocks ask too many questions. I met up with Shaxx in the City. I used to know him way back in the old days. He is a bit like me, but bigger. And louder. Titans usually are. And there was Jaxson. And he, well..."

* * *

_They'd been hunting Riksis for weeks now. Big bastard. Veteran just like them. Lennox and Ikharos had been poking away at the Archon's operations for years now. With Solkis long dead, this was the next step towards dismantling the Devils once and for all._

_Their Ghosts picked up the distress signal and hurried. It was so clearly kinderguardian, ruining all their hard work. They had a plan, but now that had gone up in flames._

_They found the Titan, still wearing basic armour the Vanguard just handed out these days, standing over the dead Archon's body, shotgun still smoking. He twirled around in a panic when the Warlock's boot sent a pebble skittering across the ground. Lennox stopped in place and held up her arms. "Friendly!"_

_"I... sorry..." The Titan wheezed out._

_Ikharos walked past him and studied what had once been a thorn in the City's side for centuries._

_"Zes di..." He muttered, crouching next to the Eliksni's head. "Riksis pak Shas."_

_"What is he..?" The Titan asked the Hunter in a hushed voice._

_"He speaks alien," she explained. "Now, tell me... how the hell did you manage this?!"_

* * *

"... he's someone I trust to keep the City safe, no matter what comes his way."

"Do you miss them?"

Ikharos hesitated. "There's no use in regret. Those bridges have been burned."

He helped himself to his supper. It was still hot to the touch and cooked just right, medium-rare. He finished most of it and tossed the remains to the waiting crows, who had come smelling blood on the wind. Then, sated, he thought of his own question. "What government will you put in place?"

Tellesa thought for a few seconds. "Rendan leads the rebellion. I doubt he'll be Duke, but for now he will defend Kuasta from the empire. We may turn to Surda in the south."

"That's a bit far."

"Everywhere is far for us. None can enter Kuasta but for the sea. Or those who brave the Spine, like yourself."

"It will be easy to defend, as long as you remain vigilant." A thought struck him. "What will you do?"

"What?"

"Your vengeance is sated. Your rebellion has won. What will you do with your life?"

"I... hadn't thought of that," she muttered. "I thought it would never end. I've been caring for Kuirst and helping the rebels since the empire burned down our village and slaughtered our family. I... don't know anything else."

"Help Rendan. The empire isn't gone. Kuasta needs people with ability. With some practice and studying you could..."

"What?"

"Look." Ikharos pointed. He could see a horse rider, completely alone on the road, thundering down the road towards the village. He brought out his rifle and peered through the scope. "A rebel. I remember. He was... at Melbet. But why... Something's wrong. Get Rendan."

The Warlock Blinked down to the open gates of the burh, waiting for the rider to arrive. The rebel was young and pale-faced from exhaustion, his shirt streaked with blood. "Sir..." He gasped. His steed snorted and swayed as it slowed to a stop.

Ikharos grabbed the young man and, as gently as he could, slid him off the saddle and onto the ground. "What is it?"

"I... the v-v-village..."

"Was it Imperials?"

"No... Urgals…"

* * *

Rehlin and the two other villages closest to Melbet were reached in time by determined outriders. Burhs, as defensible as they were, only worked on small raiding warbands. A few thousand Urgals was an entirely different matter. The palisades wouldn't keep them back.

"We need to spread word, to the other settlements, quick. The food stores need to be emptied and transported to Kuasta," Ikharos ordered. "And tell them to destroy the crop fields."

Tainvay looked horrified. "But that's their livelihoods!"

"If we feed the Urgals it will be the farmers' lives they lose," the Guardian snapped. They hadn't the manpower or training to take on an army like that in the open. Their only chance was settling for a siege. Kuasta had an advantage. The people were smart, they employed efficient farming methods that few other places in Alagaësia did. They had enough food stockpiled that Ikharos wasn't immediately worried. They only needed to transport it, as well as those in the burhs, quickly behind those high city walls. "A scorched earth policy will starve the Urgals, while we'll still have food. We even have access to the sea, we can fish or find secluded areas to forage along the coasts."

Rendan nodded, albeit reluctantly. "The wizard is right. It isn't easy, but this is the only way we can survive."

The messengers rode out.

The lead rebel sighed and practically collapsed against the motionless cart. "This is some luck, eh?"

"The Urgals see an opportunity," was all Ikharos said. He didn't want to think about luck or fate or anything else, because it would mean it was all a coincidence. He was suspicious there was more at work.

"They're like that. True pests. Do you think we can do it?"

The Warlock shrugged. "I've been in sieges. We have all the advantages. Their numbers will become their own downfall, when hunger sets in."

"Aye... I never thought I'd see anything the likes of this."

"It will be educational, I'm sure."

* * *

Ikharos stayed with the rearguard. He could see the signs of the Urgals now, a moving black wave flowing over the distant hills and villages. The evacuations were going smoothly, but their pursuers were fast. They would overtake the supply lines and refugees within a few hours, if they kept their pace up. That... was a problem.

"I'll try something," he told Rendan.

The rebel nodded. "Don't die. We'll need you."

The Warlock didn't reply. He wasn't making any promises just yet. He split away from the marching rebels and headed straight for the invading army.

* * *

Two Risen in a covered position could take on an army indefinitely, but here Ikharos was alone, and the grasslands of the Kuasta region didn't provide him with an adequate position. On the other hand, the Urgals didn't have the weapons to hit him at significant range. It left him in relative safety to use his Zen Meteor out in the open, in broad daylight.

He studied the Urgal lines. Those at the front, faster than their brethren, were the larger Urgal morphs he had seen at their camp far north. They seemed to command respect from their fellows, but there were still too many of them. Instead, he inspected their equipment. Basic armour and weaponry was of no interest to him, but the moment he saw one with chainmail, he fired. The beast's head disappeared in a flash. Its fellows reacted with fright, halting their course. Others carried on, having missed the incident for the incredible distance the front line carried, but the Warlock sought to rectify that. He switched tactics, instead going for their legs. The screaming attracted more attention and the injured needed others to carry them. It was a grim tactic, but it produced results.

He noticed that one of the beasts finally sighted the muzzle flash and pointed, so he shot it down mercilessly, but its brethren caught on.

Time to move?

"Only forward," Ikharos muttered. He put away the rifle, drew in the Void en masse, and raced to meet the horned hominids. The distance was closed within seconds, but he Blinked past the first Urgals and appeared within their ranks, then unleashed his Super. Violet energy encased the Warlock, lifting him from the ground, and he hunched over to focus his willpower on the blackhole within his hands, growing and then... he burst the bubble, allowing the Void to erupt outwards, disintegrating a dozen Urgals, all of them giants. He warped away, further into their horde and repeated it again and again, scarring the very earth below with the devastation he wrought. Finally, he glided up into the air, brought all his remaining Void into a colossal orb, and tossed it down into the centre of the mob below. Many were caught in the blast, and those who barelysurvived were torn apart by the lingering matter-venom or the shattered seekers flying for new targets.

Ikharos landed with a stumble, gasping for breath. He was in the clear, for now, with a couple hundred added to his kill count. He was no Ikora Rey, able to annihilate a Cabal contingent within seconds, but he always found the Void malleable, easier to extend his usage than others than it was for others. It was a sweet taste, this power, and that was why he had changed to Arc so long ago. Arc was angry, it fought with him and that gave him the satisfaction of keeping control. This was _too_ easy, and he didn't _like_ that.

"Now we leave..." He said, having caught his breath. He made to escape during the confusion as the Urgals recovered from the terrifying attack, but something stopped him. He didn't understand it at first. He felt it with his Light, hazy and full of smog, bitter, the taste of heavy smoke. It took him a few moments to identify it, but he saw the man before then.

The figure was thin and dressed in black, with red hair and red eyes, his skin deathly pale. He stood some distance from the Guardian, in front of the disorganised host. There was something... wrong about him. Not quite human. The way he held himself like a Reefborn Crow, quick and nimble and dangerous. But it was that aura he had that made him most unique.

It was Darkness. A small concentration, pure and yet not as refined as that which he had seen before. It was far from the sickly pungent scent of infection that were the Scorn or the ancient and malignant presence of Hive, but he knew something to compare it to. A Dredgen. The only thing that stopped the man before him from being a Shadow of Yor was the absence of a Thorn copy. They worshipped those weapons and flaunted it, but not this man. He was different.

He held a pale sword, Ikharos noticed, with a long scratch down its otherwise clean blade. The metal was light and pure, but reminded him of scoured bone. It was cleaned with cruel methods.

"You idiot," the Warlock bit out, narrowing his eyes on the stranger. "You should have let it rust, get damaged, take notches. The experience would sharpen it."

The stranger regarded him curiously, a cruel smile contorting his otherwise fair features. "You are the rebel mage, I presume."

Ikharos paused. "You're Imperial?"

The stranger's grin widened and he bolted forwards. Ikharos almost flinched, but he managed to draw his own sword and parry the blow that would have disemboweled him. That the pale sword didn't shatter upon the Eternity Edge confirmed his suspicions. This one was different. He moved with the same increased speed and attacked with the same increased strength that Guardians had, held a weapon of some power, and...

The stranger had that magic and he was trying to attack the Guardian's mind. Ikharos scowled and counter-attacked, but the stranger must havebeen experienced in such matters, for he deftly avoided it. In response, the Warlock brought up his mental blocks, the very tactic he used against Psion Flayers.

Their blades crossed again, with the Guardian staying on the defensive. He wasn't going to open himself up before he could gauge his opponent's ability, but it was difficult. There was just too much he didn't understand about this new enemy, but he reckoned it didn't understand him very well either.

He held the Eternity Edge in one hand to block the next blow, which came in at speeds too fast for any normal human to react to, and quickly discharged the Lumina three times into the stranger's abdomen. The bullets sliced through the creature's body with bursts of dark mist, and his foe buckled beneath the unexpected attack. Ikharos pressed his advantage, kicking the inhuman creature's leg hard enough to shatter the bone, rained down another few blows with his blade that were just barely fended off, and slipped past the stranger's guard to knee him in his already ruined stomach, dropping the creature. It recovered quickly and tried to stab him on the way down, but the Warlock deflected the strike and stabbed his blade down into the stranger's arm and pinned the limb to the ground. The Warlock planted a boot on the creature's chest to keep it down and aimed his cannon at its head, but its free hand shot some sort of energy at him - of an element he couldn't identify - and tossed the Guardian back into the grasp of an Urgal.

Ikharos reacted viciously, elbowing the Urgals chest and shattering its ribcage, grabbing one of its horns and snapping it off, then burying it into the skull of another. He rolled from a third and raced back to the stranger, who was quickly healing his wounds with an unfamiliar method, using its free hand to direct the magic. The Warlock snatched hold of the limb and tore it away at the shoulder, eliciting an animalistic shriek from the agent of the Darkness.

Another Urgal slammed into him, tried to force him to the ground, but the Warlock broke free of its grapple and slammed a fist over where its heart should be twice, killing it near- instantly. Two more ran to him, and more beyond, keeping him from his quarry. With a snarl, Ikharos coated his hand in Void and used it to slice through three in quick succession,emptied the rest of his Lumina into those closest, and then exchanged it for his knife. He ducked and dodged past the encroaching beasts, almost reaching the stranger, when one of the big Urgals grabbed his leg and tugged him back. The Warlock stabbed the beast twice, slashed another, and finally destroyed one with an Atomic Breach.

The stranger screamed once more and then was inexplicably beside him, completely whole - arm included - and now looking very pissed. Ikharos tried to kill it quickly, but Urgals kept running at him with no regard for their own safety, as if compelled by another force to impede his movements. It worked well, because try as he might, the Guardian found it difficult to keep the sword away from him with just a knife. It was inevitable that his opponent would find a chance to slide his weapon between the Warlock's ribs. It hurt, badly, but he still had the energy to fight back, slamming the knife into the stranger's neck. It hissed in agony, but its fortitude for dealing with pain was commendable, just like his. The Guardian used his free hand to pummel the powerful mage's face as it jerked the hilt of the sword around, attempting to find an organ. It must have succeeded, because next thing Ikharos knew, he felt very, very weak. His vision began to fade in a way he knew well, and the stranger breathed a sigh of relief.

The last thing the Warlock saw was the creature tugging the knife out with a grunt of pain.

* * *

When Xiān brought him back, the sun was almost out and there were a handful of normal-sized Urgals nearby, staring at him like he was something from their worst nightmare. Maybe he was just that. He spared no hesitation in killing them with his hands.

He came to a stop when they were all dead and he was drenched in their black blood. His Ghost appeared before him and, without a word, dropped him his Lumina, now fully loaded. He could feel the prints of the beasts on it. They had tried to figure it out. Of course it failed on them, it was his.

Ikharos glanced around. The ground was flattened by an army's passing, utterly covered in deep footprints. A small camp had been set up, once populated with the creatures he killed. "What's happening?"

"He killed you..." Xiān trailed off.

"He had friends with him. I didn't. I'll get him next time."

"He was too Dark. I waited until he left. He ordered this bunch to watch your body. They're... headed for Kuasta."

Ikharos nodded mutely and looked around. "How long was I out?"

"Four hours? Five? He was so Dark..."

"Where's my Edge?"

"He took it with him."

"Then I'll go take it back."

Tracking the Urgals was not an issue in the slightest.

* * *

He saw the smoke plumes climbing into the sky before he saw the city. Ikharos pushed himself to the brink, running as fast as he could, but even then he could tell it was too late.

One of the gates of the city had been smashed open by something big or something like a Guardian, and he had a feeling he knew what it was. There were bodies filled with arrows outside the gates, all Urgals, and the crows were having a feast. There were more bodies inside, but the corpses steadily changed from the horned creatures to humans. The streets were awash with blood, black and red, and the buildings weren't much better. A part of the city was on fire, the rest was ravaged by a tribal army.

There was nowhere to go but the former Imperial fort. The bodies piled higher the closer he got. The rebels must have made a fighting retreat, but it was a bloodbath. Urgals cut down everyone, rebels and desperate townsfolk both. The gates and drawbridges had been opened with brute force. The Urgals were determined. The Warlock strolled through the carnage in muted silence. It was worse inside. An utter bloodbath.

"Shit..." Ikharos felt the Void he had readied for a fight slip from his grasp, but he was past caring about that. There wasn't anything left to see him. He collapsed against the wall of the fort and despaired.

Xiān landed beside him, uncharacteristically silent.

The Warlock slouched. He felt tired again. More than before. "I... shouldn't have left them."

"There was no way to know they'd have that with them."

"Perhaps not, but this is still on me." He slammed a fist into the stone wall. "DAMMIT!"

"All the people..."

"It's just like the Red War..."

His Ghost perked up. "There's got to be survivors."

"What?"

"Survivors. Like the Red War. Someone must have escaped. I know it."

Ikharos waved around them. "The Urgals were thorough."

"But..."

"The ships are on fire. The Urgals poured in the gate. They killed everyone."

"But..."

"The Urgals will find any they missed. There's enough of them."

"There is somewhere. The Arcaena."

The Warlock lifted himself up with great effort, swaying on his feet. "Fine," he mumbled. He wasn't near as fast to leave the city of Kuasta, burdened with the weight of this failure.

* * *

It looked worse from the mountains. They afforded him a wide view of the destruction. Kuasta's fire was overtaking far more buildings, lighting it up in the night. The Urgals must have moved on to abandoned villages, because they were quickly joining the region's capital in blazing up in the darkness.

The only thing that he could count as fortunate was the survival of the Reliquary. It hadn't changed, but for the monks now outside the monastary, frozen with horror at the sight of the land before them. As soon as Ikharos stumbled into their sight, one of them hurried over and took his arm.

"You survived..." He heard the young man say. "You are fortunate to have escaped their cruelty."

"Has..." He found it hard to get words past that lump in his throat. "Has anyone else arrived?"

"Yes," the monk told him. A sliver of hope entered his heart. "There are others, but they are so few. Many of them were injured. Tell me, are you hurt?"

"No."

"Good, good. Come, sir, this way."

The monk led him into the monastery, past the abbey and to the collection of smaller buildings. He supposed the one they entered must be the infirmary, if only because of the people inside. Monks tended to the injured, which consisted of almost all to varying degrees. The survivors were so few, a mere handful, nothing compared to the hundreds of thousands that once populated the Kuastan region.

Edmont, the only one free of any wound, sent him a tired glance and then gave a start, shooting to his feet with a surprised expression. "You're... you're alive!"

Ikharos shrugged, but didn't get the chance to answer. He was glad to see familiar faces amongst those that lived, but Tellesa must have thought differently. Given the absence of Kuirst, it didn't take a genius to know why.

She shot up, limped over and jabbed him with a finger. "Where were you?" She demanded. The left of her face had been burned. It must have hurt. Her clothes were stained with blood, most of it Urgal in origin.

Ikharos exhaled shakily. "Dead."

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "Dead?"

"Yes."

"But you're not dead now?"

"No," he said quietly. "No I am not."

"Please, tell me," she asked with mock-politeness. "How is it you were dead and yet alive before me?"

"Because I'm a Guardian," he told her. That didn't feel right. "A Risen," he corrected. "We live many lives... The Light brings us back again and again, until it can't."

"Why don't you-"

"Master Borro!" One of the monks cried out. His patient, a rebel by the name of Diamanda, was bleeding profusely from a dozen unpleasant wounds. Without professional intervention, he would die within a few hours. The monks didn't seem to know what to do, even the lead physician, so Ikharos mustered the strength to walk over beside the bed. He held his hand above the wounds and grasped the Void around him. The hushed talk of monks and those patients still conscious fell to a halt as the Warlock's hands glowed purple. He couldn't seem to grab the nothingness, to empty his mind and walk the nullscape. His mind was shaken by recent events. Still, he could try his best to summon even a minor rift.

Ertharis was led inside by two other clergymen and brought beside the Risen. If he knew what was happening, he didn't give any indication.

"There was an attack?" He asked aloud.

"Yes," Edmont answered, his voice cracking. "Urgals."

The abbot nodded understandingly. "I see. But our lands have survived their scourge for generations. How did they pierce the walls?"

"They came in numbers. I've never heard of them doing that. And... they were led well."

"By whom?"

"A Shade," Tellesa spat. "A thrice-damned Shade."

Ikharos couldn't help himself. "The man with red hair? And the pale sword?"

"He carried your sword as well," she said accusingly.

"I know..."

"What are you doing, Ikharos?" Ertharis questioned.

The Warlock turned his attention back to the rebel under his hands. "I'm trying to save Diamanda."

"What ails him?"

"He has multiple lacerations, broken bones and possible internal bleeding. I am attempting to create a Warlock rift to mend that."

"Your magic, will it work?"

"In all likelihood, yes." He could see the wounds slowly stitching themselves together. "But it is... hard."

"Hmm. Aethal, what of the others? Are their lives at risk?"

The monk blinked. "Not immediately, master. They need rest and care for now."

"Then please bring our friend here to the guest house when he is finished. He sounds tired."

Ikharos let go of the Void. "I... can help the others."

"I am blind, not a fool. I can hear it in your voice. You need rest as much as they do. We will speak when you have recovered."

The Risen offered no further argument. He could barely stand. Aethal pointed him to another house and then raced inside to tend to another survivor. The Warlock entered and picked a room at random. His will to keep going, keep fighting and keep healing crumbled the moment his head hit the pillow.


	10. Journey I

"This situation is quickly worsening. At this rate the Ahamkara will find us."

"Pessimist." Xiān headbutted him rather hard. Ikharos snarled and swiped at the Ghost, but she danced out of the way. "It's not so bad."

The Warlock pointed. "The Kuasta is _still_ burning."

"Shut up and let me console you." She huffed. "Right. So we know there's a Dredgen wannabe that-"

"Not Dredgen. No Thorn. Only a similar presence."

"Why couldn't I get a cool Hunter... Okay, so we know there's a Not-Dredgen that leads an Urgal host. Yeah?"

"Yes."

"He has a sword that obviously isn't normal, but it isn't part of the Sword Logic. Too... clean, you said. And he has your sword."

"Yes. Though he will not be able to use it properly for lack of Light."

"And we've heard - from a book in a library, I might add - that there used to be dragons here. That right?"

"It is."

"Finally, there's a Warmind up there to keep this tempor-thingymajig contained. Correct?"

"Temporal anomaly."

"You know what I mean. That's... three issues. Just three. Not-Dredgen, possible dragons and Warmind. All very mysterious. Just not the Oryx or Ghaul type of threats."

"So far. You forgot that something had to cause all of it. That is what frightens me."

"You know what? I give up." She landed on the cool grass. "Cheer yourself up."

"Thanks for trying."

"Is... is that gratitude?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"Fine then. What's our next move?"

"Hunt the Shade."

* * *

"You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, yes!" Ertharis gestured to the place next to him on the bench. "Please join me. Tell me, what happened?"

"The Urgals attacked and-"

"No, no no, what happened to you in particular? I can tell it left its mark."

"Me?" Ikharos frowned. "I... went to slow down the Urgals. They would have overtaken everyone if I hadn't."

"Were you not afraid of death?"

"I've died thousands of times. I didn't expect to die there, but it wouldn't be the end."

"Yes, Tellesa said you boasted as much. Would you explain that to me?"

The Warlock made a face. "I didn't boast. I merely told her where I was when the Urgals hit Kuasta. Dead."

Ertharis nodded seriously. "And how did you return to life?"

"I'd rather not say."

"Truly?"

Ikharos sat down. He had a feeling he would be answering a lot of questions. "Truly."

"Ah... Does it hurt? To die and be reborn?"

"Dying hurts if the thing killing you inflicts pain, as per the norm. Being resurrected is like... a gust of cold air in your lungs, from being nothing to simply being. It's hard to describe."

"These concepts boggle the mind. I sense there is some truth in your words. I cannot know for sure. Do you make a habit of lying?"

"No," the Risen said firmly. "I am many things, but not a liar."

"Hmm... tell me, Ikharos, what shall you do now?"

The Warlock paused. "I'm going to kill that Shade."

"What you propose is no easy feat. Only a handful have ever slain a Shade in the history of Alagaësia."

"You won't be able to dissuade me. This is what I'm here for. To secure this land from agents of the Darkness. "

Ertharis dipped his head. "Then I wish you fortune in this endeavour. When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow." He hesitated. "Will this place be safe?"

The monk nodded. "The empire has searched for it since Galbatorix took the throne with no avail. We are hidden here. Safe. And we will continue to uphold our sacred purpose here."

"I wanted to ask something. What is it the Arcaena does? Why does the empire hate it?"

Ertharis smiled. "We compile knowledge for the Cataclysm, when the surviving descendants of our people will need it most. We always write the truth, even if people such as Galbatorix would rather it be _their_ truth."

"And this Cataclysm?"

"We know little, only that it is coming. Green fire will fill the skies and terrible songs will fall on the land."

The Warlock froze up. "How... What warned you about this Cataclysm?"

"The Grey Folk."

"Who are they?"

"I'm afraid I know too little of them. They have long been absent from Alagaësia."

* * *

Edmont and Tellesa were at the monastery's gates by dawn, with traveling packs by their feet. Ikharos joined them. He knew what they wanted

"Ertharis told us," the sailor said. "We want to join you."

"No," the Warlock said immediately.

"If you don't, we'll track down the Shade ourselves," Tellesa told him. He could tell she was still angry with him. She would have made a great Titan, if a Ghost had found her. She had the right attitude.

"And you'll die."

"Maybe you can teach us how to get past that."

"Enough!" The air crackled with power. "This is not something the Lightless can fight."

Edmont stepped back and watched the Warlock warily, but there was no true fear in those eyes. He still trusted the Risen. "Too many people are dead. We can't stand by and pretend otherwise. We can't rebuild and we won't. There is nothing left for us but this single purpose."

Ikharos sighed.

_They've lost everything. Give them this._

"Fine," he responded. His tone sharpened to a cutting edge. "If you fall behind, I won't look back for you."

Tellesa shouldered past him. "Then let's go."

Edmont shrugged, hefted his bags and joined the hike down the mountain.

The Risen closed his eyes. "Psekisk…"

* * *

They avoided Kuasta like the plague. None of them wanted to see the horrors inside anytime soon. Instead, they followed the path of the Urgal horde back north, the way they had come. By dusk they passed the sight of Ikharos' earlier fight. Some of the bodies, those that escaped his Void, remained. As did the crater of his Nova Bomb, the charred ground completely crystalized.

Edmont gawked at the sight. "By the gods... what could do this?"

"I did," the Warlock grunted. "We need to move out of the open. No fire. I trust you brought your own rations?"

"Y... yes..." The sailor kept glancing back to the dead spot. Nothing would ever grow there again. The Void had its fangs in it.

There was a small lull in the ground, as good a place as any to set down in the vast grassland. Ikharos took up position on the hill overlooking it, Zen Rifle in hand. He glanced down to his new companions. "Six hours rest, no more. We'll be in the Spine before the sun rises."

* * *

He liked to travel in silence, if at all possible. Hunters understood that desire. It was what led them both, Hunters and Warlords, to brave the wilds beyond the City. Ikharos liked the quiet. It allowed him to think in peace. The bustle of the City was something he was never comfortable with. The Dark Age was a time where you kept everyone at a distance, for fear they had a shiv up their sleeve. In the City, he was the only one with that fear. He didn't know if Shaxx thought the same thing. Maybe that was why the Titan was always so loud; to keep people back. It worked to some effect. Most people valued having their sense of hearing intact.

He didn't have that here. Tellesa and Edmont were quiet, all considering, but even the softest of sounds ruined his walk through nature. He tried not to let it weigh on him. He had enough burdens now. Any more and he was liable to collapse.

The Urgals were primitives, but they were expert survivalists. They split up into their war bands when they entered the forest, making life difficult for the Risen. There was no telling where the Shade was. His only direction was north. That was where they had come from and where they departed towards.

This wasn't fireteam Sagittarius. They weren't Jaxson or Lennox. This was something else. It all felt like a step backwards. This planet reverted people to a medieval state. It gave him pause. He wasn't a Guardian at this point. He had a Ghost, he had Light, but he wasn't a warrior of the Last City anymore. He hadn't been for some years now. This place was the final nail in the coffin. He wasn't all that different to what he had been before. A Risen Warlord.

It wasn't a welcome change. He was proud of his past, in a way. How many others could say that? He knew only four. Time and war had torn the rest of them away.

Ikharos was certain he'd find his final end here, on Kepler-186f. It felt like it. Their reserves of Light would run dry and his Ghost wouldn't be able to raise him. He'd probably run out of ammo when that happened. That reminded him, he needed to set up a Glimmer Drill.

"How did you kill so many?" Edmont finally asked.

The Risen shrugged. "Because I have better weapons? Because I have Light? Guardians are always outnumbered. That's the kind of fight we train for."

"Yer people must be formidable."

"We might be. But our foes are greater."

* * *

They made progress. The Urgals were long gone, but he knew that they would stop at some point. They were mortal creatures. It was his hope that the Shade would be with the group they were tailing.

"What if he's with another?" Edmont asked. He was the mediator. Tellesa wasn't talking to Ikharos. He would be lucky to get five words out of her in a day.

"Then we pick whichever creature speaks the best English and draw the information out of it by whatever means necessary," he informed them. He pointed to a small clearing. "We'll camp there. I'll make the fire."

* * *

Three of them sat around the small flame in awkward silence, waiting for the stew to bubble. Or, four of them, but Ikharos intended to keep his Ghost out of sight unless necessary. He didn't know if Kuirst told anyone else, but he'd keep it to himself for the present.

Something needed to be done. Edmont was frightened and Tellesa was too angry. They didn't need to get along, but they needed to trust one another and-

The Warlock leapt to his feet, drew his knife and tossed into the nearby undergrowth. The Urgal gave a heavy exhale much like a sigh, then fell over dead. The rebels jumped up with their swords drawn but Ikharos held a hand to keep them from acting rashly. "That's the only one."

"It might have a warband!" Tellesa hissed.

"No. It was alone." He retrieved his knife and cleaned it on the Urgal's rugged armour. "But I think it means we're on the right track."

"How?"

"This is a scout. Look at it. Leaner than usual and nothing but the lightest of armour at their disposal. Someone assigned it to the role and sent it back in case they were being followed." He smiled grimly. "The Shade must have discovered that my body was missing. He's split his forces to confuse us. Either this band has an able leader or it's the Dark creature. They're wary. I must have rattled them."

"What do we do?!"

"Wait here." Ikharos had his Ghost drop a rifle into his hands. Edmont only just stifled his surprised shriek. "If trouble finds you, use this. Tigerspite auto rifle. Always a reliable model." He switched the safety off. "It shoots small metal projectiles out of the barrel at high speeds. Do not look down the barrel. Pull the trigger to shoot."

"Sorcery..." The sailor mumbled. Tellesa rolled her eyes and grabbed the weapon awkwardly. She would need some training on wielding it properly. Sometime later. He had greater priorities at the moment

"I understand... Where are you going?!"

"I'll be back before long," he told them. Before they could offer any further resistance to the idea, he ran off.

* * *

He found the Urgals resting in a small glade. There weren't many of them. Ikharos slid down the slope without cloaking himself. It didn't matter if they saw him or not. He wasn't going to be quiet anymore. He had tried to be careful and considerate of this world and that had failed. Now he would make sure that these creatures knew what awaited them if they crossed a Guardian.

The moment they caught sight of him they panicked. They must have remembered his short slaughter of their brethren. And his subsequent death.

Ikharos had no mercy for these monsters. He tossed a Nova Bomb in the centre of their camp and killed most in a Void explosion. The survivors tried to run. He gave chase, killing each of them, until there was only one left.

The single Urgal displayed the same signs of terror that humans had, furthering his theory that these were hominids, but the voice was wrong. The words too.

"Can you speak this language?" The Warlock said, standing over the horned creature. He held nothing but a knife in hand, yet he needed nothing else.

The Urgal hurried to answer. "Yes, yes!"

"Good. Where's the Shade?"

"Me cannot-"

"Fine," the Warlock summoned a vortex grenade. "We'll do this a different way."

* * *

He returned by morning with his white armour stained black. Neither rebel looked like they got any sleep. The rifle aimed at him the moment he entered their view, and thankfully Tellesa didn't fire. Reef weapons were just as able as City-forged of depleting shields and cutting down Guardians.

"What happened?" She demanded.

"No Shade," he reported. "But I know where it has gone now."

Edmont stood up slowly. His bedroll wasn't even out of his pack. "What... happened?" He repeated

"The Urgals were a future threat to other settlements, so I killed them."

"How many?"

"Twenty? Thirty? Near enough."

The sailor shook his head. "Yer not human."

"No, I'm Risen. There's a big difference." He wandered off to find a stream to wash all the blood off.

* * *

He let Tellesa keep the rifle. She would be far safer with that than a simple steel sword if the Shade returned. He gave her a few basic tips (such as how to avoid shooting herself in the foot) and that was that. With them slowing him down, he didn't want to waste anymore time. As opposed to her, Edmont accepted no other weapon, content with his own maul and blade, and Ikharos didn't press further. It was foolish, yet he had to respect the man's wishes, even if it was only fearful superstition

They continued their hunt. It would be impossible to take out each Urgal group, as those warbands were quickly moving on from the Kuastan part of the Spine. Their only hint at which the group the Shade was among was the route each took. Ikharos hazarded a guess that the one heading to human settlements would contain his quarry.

"We need to talk."

"Yes?" The Warlock tilted his head. "Then talk."

Tellesa set her jaw. She looked different, and not just because of the scar left by the burn. She was haggard with exhaustion and grief. Her eyes were the only thing truly alive, still burning with fury. "Ertharis told me that you are not a liar. Were... were you dead?"

"I was." He didn't flinch under the sudden intense scrutiny.

"I don't understand." She scowled. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

"You're right." Ikharos turned around and kept walking. The woods were a confusing maze that would have led him astray if it wasn't for the Ghost leading him. The map on his HUD indicated they would cross mountains soon. Another few weeks of travel and they might make it to Woadark Lake. "I have been here for months and not one of my questions have been answered."

Tellesa gave him an odd look. "I speak of you as well. Much of what you say cannot be understood."

"I don't get a lick of it," Edmont added.

Ikharos sighed. "Few do, I've found."

They fell quiet, mulling over the words and the thoughts that came with it. Edmont started humming a sea shanty to fill in the silence.

* * *

_"It's quiet."_

_"It is, isn't it?"_

_"But I suppose it isn't for you."_

_Despite the expressionless white mask, the Speaker's gaze was thoughtful. "Maybe not."_

_The flippant answer pissed him off. "Does it care? At all? Its blessings are more of a curse to..." He waved to the Tower's railing, down into the city below. "... them."_

_"It wants to protect humanity."_

_"And in doing so gives rise to our worst enemy," Ikharos spat. "Ourselves."_

_The Speaker adjusted the toy in his hand. They used to be bright and vibrant, those puzzle cubes, but the colours have long since faded to the same ivory as his mask. "Do you truly believe that?"_

_"Yes. I've lived it."_

_"As did I. Cathal was not kind."_

_"You lived under the heel of just one. I've looked down the barrels of hundreds of their guns. I've seen the thousands dead because of their greed. Their gluttony. It doesn't take much to turn a Guardian into a Warlord. In the end, both are just Risen."_

_"And does it take just as little to turn a Warlord into a Guardian? Shaxx and yourself have adapted well."_

_"It was that or die."_

_"That's not what I've heard."_

_The Warlock growled. "It was that or let them die."_

_"Do you see? There was always the Guardian."_

_"I still don't think it will last. The City."_

_The Speaker sighed. "Your words are dangerous."_

_"Words are cheap."_

_"Many listen to you."_

_"They want to see the last Warlord. The last real independent."_

_"You underestimate yourself. They look up to you. As they do Shaxx. You have survived and that is enough to earn their respect."_

_"So that's it? Exile, so I don't sway the crowd a way you don't like?"_

_"No. We do need you here. The old days are long past, but we need the Iron Lords and Warlords now more than ever."_

_He wanted to ridicule the sheer irony of it, but Ikharos hadn't the will to do so. Not when the Speaker was right. Twilight Gap showed him as much. "If we're all supposed to work together... what's the Traveler's part in this?"_

_The Speaker sighed. It was the sound borne of pent up frustration and helplessness. "It will leave us."_

_He nearly abandoned the Last City then and there. But then the call went out and the Jumpships were warping to the Moon in the hundreds. He found the other Risen did listen, even as Boomer rounds smashed into the rock around them and the Deathsong melodies floated by._

* * *

Every day was more of the same. They would wake, they would hike, they would stop to camp for the night, the rebels would be too exhausted to do anything other than make a meal and the two Lightless would fall asleep. Then the cycle would begin again. There was little socialising in this time. Edmont was normally an easy going man, with many interesting tales of his exploits as a sailor to tell, but he had fallen into a depression following Kuasta's destruction. Tellesa was a curious and bright individual, yet now all she focused was vengeance. Ikharos knew from experience that even if they succeeded, neither of the rebels would feel any better. When Jaxson - with the Traveler to finish the job - killed Ghaul, the Guardians weren't returned to their pre-Red War states. No, they were haunted by the memories of their mortality and helplessness.

He couldn't fix that. He had wasted too much time in Kuasta. His primary mission still stood and he had made zero progress. It constantly weighed on the back of his mind. Ertharis had unintentionally confirmed his theory. The old monk had given him a warning about Hive and he never even realized it.

Above all else, he needed to learn more about the Grey Folk.

* * *

"What's the most outrageous thing ye've ever done?"

Ikharos had to smile. The memory was still precious. "The emperor to a collective of countless civilizations offered to turn me into one of his prized champions. I declined."

"An emperor?" The sailor asked, the small fire illuminating his face.

"Different from Galbatorix, I assure you, but not much better. Though the reasoning of my refusal was for other reasons. I merely valued my own freedom. And I don't condone the lifestyle he entertains. In fact, I would have been of the same mindset as Ghaul, had he not attacked the City."

"Who is Ghaul?" Tellesa asked.

The Warlock closed his eyes. "My people have faced bigger and meaner creatures than him, but he outmanoeuvred us through a sound battle plan that saw thousands of my people dead and the rest left homeless. We defeated him, eventually, but it was a costly war. What of you, Tellesa?"

"I bit an Imperial soldier's hand as a child." She admitted.

"How did you survive? They don't strike me as the merciful type."

"They aren't, and Rendan killed him."

"Ah," the Risen nodded. He turned to face the third of their group. "And you?"

A broad grin split across Edmont's face. "I jumped into the ocean with a bunch of sharks. Didn't know thems were sharks, though. Thought they were dolphins."

"Dolphins?" His interest piqued, Ikharos leaned forward. "They are here?"

"I… uh, yes? Not here, but in the ocean. Why?" The sailor's grin faded to a frown. "Is this a bad thing?"

"NO!" The Warlock laughed. "This is good news! I was under the impression they were extinct! Ah, I should try to speak with them…"

"But… ye know what, it doesn't matter. Wizard stuff, I 'spose."

**000**

Even in this distant system, Zhonoch noted with approval, the Cabal celebrated that which they had on dear Torobatl. Two Centurions engaged in the Tusking Challenges, horns locking together and hard fists pounding against hard metal plate, while their Centuries howled and roared with approval around the fighting grounds. It distracted them from the failure of yesterday, the fall of Matlai. The Hive had pushed rigorously for the new territory, built on the bones of a hundred thousand Legionaries, befouling the treasured cities with their dark magic. If he could, he would strangle them all, drown them in their own green blood.

But there were more urgent matters at hand.

He passed into the backroom of the winehouse and wore a grin. The five soldiers, Legionaries all, glanced away from their dice game and watched the newcomer suspiciously.

"Hail, comrades," Zhonoch greeted in Ulurant. "Not enjoying the rites?"

"Not enough room," one, the largest of the five, growled.

"Or wine," another added, taking a swig of a near-empty bottle. "Want a game?"

Zhonoch shrugged, rolling his plated shoulders. "I might."

He squatted and joined their hobby. When the big one gave him an expectant look, Zhonoch dropped fifty marks - half this rotation's wages. His new friends chuckled and added their own fortunes; they played for high stakes. When at last the dice came around to him, he inspected the carved bone, each side marked with a different beast from their homeland ranging in size.

"Warbeast!" Zhonoch declared, and tossed the dice. He always picked Warbeast.

His luck wasn't in the roll.

"Ah," the drinker, who sorely missed the last of his wine, observed. "Aphelion."

"Damn star-lizards," Zhonoch cursed half-heartedly. His fortune, as well as the other riches in the dice pit, was lost to him. "A pity. Again?"

The big one huffed, but the drinker pleaded his case. "C'mon, Goroz, let him in."

The others took up the chance. "GOROZ! GOROZ! GOROZ!"

Finally, their seeming leader relented. "Fine!" He snarled, baring his teeth. "But you better present!"

Zhonoch presented alright. He held out twice the previous amount - a large sum.

The drinker chuckled. "You can pay."

"We all can," Zhonoch replied. There wasn't much to spend marks on when fighting on the front lines. A reality they all knew too well. "Warbeast."

"Again?"

"I always rely on a hound. There might be bigger, but none so bold." He rolled once more. His fortunes had shifted; a wounded whale. The biggest on the dice and food for all the rest. Zhonoch scooped up his marks, but left the rest in the pit. "Today is a good day. I won't ruin it for the rest of you."

The others cheered, all but the Goroz. The drinker celebrated loudest. "A toast!"

"We're all out of wine, you fool!"

"Not all!" The swaying Legionary stumbled his way over to a cryocontainer by the door. He opened it to reveal one last bottle, filled with the violet of real wine from the capital. "I'll pour!"

"You." The big one stood up and captured Zhonoch's attention, even as the others left the pit to fetch their cups. Wine from Calus' old gardens were rare in this system. It was difficult to ship anything other than essentials with Tombships harassing the trade-lanes. "You're of a different command. Airborne maniple?"

"On occasion." He could really use that drink. The environment of Chorobal was too unpleasant to brave sober, but he had powered through it to reach this garrison.

"On occasion?"

"Yes. Sometimes I fly. Sometimes I don't. It all depends on my mission."

"Ah," Goroz said. The sides of his lips stretched in a grin, showing where a section of teeth had been knocked out. Zhonoch's best guess was that this Legionary got too close to a Knight. Those Hive never go easy. The bigger Cabal looked past him. "What's the hold up, Khu'un?!"

"Don't fret, you brute, it's ready." Khu'un, the drinker, handed Zhonoch a simple metal goblet almost overflowing with wine. A generous amount.

"To the return of Matlai!" Zhonoch began.

"To its rightful owners," Goroz added, watching the newcomer carefully.

Zhonoch lifted the goblet to his maw and-

His audial implants buzzed to life. _"They mean to poison you."_

-he splashed the drink into Goroz's eyes, blinding the Legionary long enough to draw his slug rifle and shoot the soldier in the stomach. He carried on, sending another two microrockets through another soldier, but a third quickly knocked the weapon from his hands. Zhonoch engaged his wrist-blade and sliced the throat of that Cabal, but then a fourth was upon him. Her tusks were short, but sharp, and he kept his head well back. He slammed a fist into her arm, destroyed her fighting stance with a leg sweep and stabbed her.

Khu'un scrambled for his weapon by the cryocontainer, but Zhonoch shot his wrist-blade at the smaller Cabal, hitting him between the shoulders. The blade erupted into superheated shrapnel, finishing him off.

That left Goroz, who roared furiously and slammed into Zhonoch, tossing the newcomer into the far side of the room, then charged once more. With Goroz's mass bearing down on him, the smaller combatant sidestepped to flank his opponent, elbowing his larger foe in the abdomen and sending in two jabs to the side. Even without the armour Goroz would have been hard to put down. His heavy layer of muscle and fat protected his lungs and heart.

_"Down!"_

Zhonoch dropped without question and the Severus intended for his neck buried itself in the steel walls. He responded immediately, going for Goroz's head, breaking even more teeth off with slams of his gauntleted fists. The bigger Cabal stepped back and his swings grew sloppy, his eyes unaligned. Zhonoch pressed closer, increased the speed of his barrage, then sent a cross that dropped the Legionary, spraying black blood across the floor.

A few seconds later and more soldiers burst into the room, guns at the ready. Zhonoch, out of breath, could only hold up a cloth mark bearing the emblem of the Soulrazers - a circle with two symmetrical lines through it.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" One of the Centurions from the Challenge thundered into the room, her tusks dripping with gore. Evidently, she won.

"Vigilant business," Zhonoch panted. "Investigating suspicious activity presumed to be treason."

The Centurion growled and her fists shook, but she dared not say a word in case it would be taken against her. Soulrazers were ridiculously meticulous.

Zhonoch grinned, that same expression that had won bloodthirsty crowds with his daring. "We won't be long."

_"I'll send a pickup soon. Watch the others. Don't let any disturb the bodies. Or the wine."_

He lumbered over to collect his rifle and waved to indicate the entire room. "Out, or the Soulrazers will have questions for you."

The soldiers retreated rather quickly.

* * *

"What was it?"

The Psion Specialist momentarily turned to regard the Cabal Vigilant. "Ground-up Worm carapace."

Zhonoch grimaced. "That's not poison. That's a curse."

Tlac returned to his work, his single eye absorbing all it could from the scrolling monitors before him. "It was the quickest way to warn you."

The Vigilant left without another word, continuing down the corridor to the war room. Valus Mol'auv and his bond-brothers were already in deep discussion, but they spared a moment to greet the returning soldier. Zhonoch stood to attention, still as a statue, and waited for the moment they would finish. Not long after, the Valus's bond-brothers were dismissed and he turned his attention to the Vigilant. "We aren't finished."

"No? I killed them."

"The Flayers believe there is more corruption. It may stretch further up the chain of command."

Zhonoch cursed. The damage a carefully hidden Hive cult could wreak was insurmountable. Especially in the Worldbreaker legions, the only thing holding the borders together. "What next, sir?"

"We trace it to the source and nip it in the bud." Valus Mol'auv's eyes glinted. "Before the Witches break us open and the horde comes crashing down on our empire. You're being reassigned, Vigilant."

"Where to, sir?"

"Worldbreaker Cohorts I through IV will be accompanied by Soulrazer Cohort III. The Evocate-General has a plan to flank the Hive and cleanse our taken worlds."

"Understood."

* * *

Zhonoch had been about to board the Harbinger waiting for him when the news broke through the private channels. Tlac must have picked it up early and sent it his way. The information was fed to him in a hallucinatory screen before his eyes, powered by his implants.

_DOMINUS DEAD. CONSUL DEAD. RED LEGION SCATTERED. TRAPPIST SYSTEM LOST._

He almost jumped and bellowed with surprise, but Zhonoch forced those instincts down. He had a flight waiting for him.

* * *

 _For the Staff of Evocate-General Umun'arath  
_ _From Soulrazers III Cohort/Strategic Intelligence Maniple  
_ _Subject matter: Traitorous reverence_

_I. Records, Materials and Attributions Pursuant To Analysis_

_Soulrazers III Cohort/Maniple 3/Vigilant 1  
_ _TASK:  
_ _\- identify and eliminate traitors in contact with [WITCHES] within worldbreaker IV Cohort/Century 11/Maniple 1  
_ _5 Squad [LINE INF]  
_ _OUTCOME:  
_ _\- vigilant eliminated [5] traitors bearing evidence of treason_

_II. Analysis_

_Squadron was in possession of substances identified as being remains of Wyrms, parasites commonly found within living Hive. Reports from Canaban indicate Wyrms are capable of growing to immense sizes, comparable to Ahamkara, based on sustenance obtained. Psion Specialists report that Ahamkara and Wyrm occupy the same ecological niche. Imperial Decree IV dictates that all Wyrm materials are to be destroyed immediately. Keeping such materials is paramount to high-treason._

_Squadron freely ingested materials knowingly and attempted to inject the surplus into the Vigilant's drink. Vigilant noticed and did not drink, then proceeded to immediately eliminate squadron. Report indicates that further traitors may remain. Requesting permission to continue investigation into Worldbreaker infantry ranks. Individuals represent a major security risk, including sabotage and selling information. Whether traitors actively worship Hive deities or merely engage in trophy hunting is unknown, however, previous behaviour indicates the former. This requires immediate termination, as traitors had cut all ties to the empire._

_We also request that all active combat units are to be reminded that Hive-related objects are NOT to be claimed as war trophies, as they represent a major threat to units' mental state and impede a legion's ability to function at optimal efficiency._

_For the Primus of All Legions,  
_ _Our highest duty done,  
_ _Unflinchingly loyal,  
_ _Soulrazers III/SI_

* * *

 _For Soulrazers III Cohort/Strategic Intelligence Maniple  
_ _From Staff of Evocate-General Umun'arath  
_ _Subject Matter: Fall of Trappist System and cultist plot_

_I. Records, Materials and Attributions Pursuant To Analysis_

_Soulrazers III Cohort/Maniple 3/Vigilant 1  
_ _TASK:  
_ _\- continue to accompany worldbreaker cohorts I, II, III and IV to epirion system._

_II. Analysis_

_Evocate-General and Primus of Worldbreakers have decided that the prize of the epirion system is necessary to combat both Hive and Human threats. Considering the failure of Dominus Ghaul, the Evocate-General has opted to be prepared for the dangers of the Trappist system. Soulrazer Cohort III will continue to accompany the worldbreaker legion and carry out investigation._

_For the Primus of All Legions,  
_ _Our highest duty done,  
_ _Unflinchingly loyal,  
_ _Staff of Evocate-General Umun'arath_


	11. Journey II

The Toark river was strong and full of vigour. It tumbled past them in a westward heading, fed directly to the ocean. It presented a problem, as the Urgal tracks, which had been growing sparser every day, disappeared.. There were two directions in which the Shade could have traveled; Teirm or the centre of the empire.

"The empire would be suicide for the Shade," Edmont stated.

"What if the king doesn't care?" Tellesa challenged.

The sailor hesitated. "But the armies wouldn't stand by!"

"No. But there's enough room for the Shade to circumvent challenging them," Ikharos added his own input. "That said, Teirm is an easy target. It is smaller than Kuasta, and we know that the defenses won't work against magic."

Tellesa crossed her arms. "And if he isn't there?"

"We still need to stock up on supplies," the Warlock reminded her. "We made do with the rations we had, but we're running out. There wasn't enough for crossing the mountains anyways. How many nights did I have to go hunting?"

It was a necessity. It only furthered the notion that Risen and mortal humans were entirely different creatures. He didn't need to eat or rest often, but they did. He had spent many evenings tracking down rabbits, squirrels or the rare doe to feed his hungry companions. All his other weapons were designed to completely eradicate his enemies so he had to rely on tossing stones. It surprised him how unusually devastating a pebble could be in the hands of a Guardian.

"And blankets," Edmont added. "We would have frozen if not for yer fires burning all night."

"We are agreed?" Ikharos asked. His companions nodded, though Tellesa was hesitant. "We will have to enter from the west gate, under disguise. No weapons."

"Ah, wait," the sailor said. "Ye were here 'fore, weren't ye?"

"Yes. Soldiers attempted to arrest me. I didn't want that, so I left."

"Let's hope they don't do it again, aye?" Edmont rubbed the back of his head. "Besides, we might be able to talk with some friends."

"Oh?"

"There's a merchant in the city, used to work with Rendan and me, back when we were out of home. He's part of the Varden too. He might be able to help us with getting some things."

"What's his name?"

"Jeod Longshanks. Good man."

"Can we trust him?"

"I do, with my life. Ye'll like him. He has a library."

That settled it. Nothing could have dissuade him, not with the prospect of finally getting some answers on the horizon. Ikharos held out his hand and summoned his Ghost. His companions recoiled at the sight of the bright blinking eye set in the azure shell, but Xiān took it in stride. "Hi!"

"Rifle, please." The Warlock held out his hand. Tellesa kept the Ghost in her line of sight, barely edging close enough to toss the weapon to the Risen. The Ghost put it away immediately, eliciting surprised yells. "She's harmless."

"Well..." His Ghost spun around to face him. "I wouldn't go that far."

"She's _mostly_ harmless," he corrected with a sigh. "Just... you know what? Ask away."

"What is that?!" Edmont cried out.

"A Ghost. My..."

"Say it!" Xiān demanded.

"... most irritating of partners. She is the link I have to my Light. And the only way I have of accessing my armoury."

"That's it? All you have to say about me?"

"Yes."

"You know there's more."

"Then feel free to tell them. And quickly. Shade's still moving."

If Xiān knew that the two rebels watched her like she was a rabid animal, she did a great impression of remaining blissfully unaware. "My name is Xiān and I'm a Ghost. Not a spirit or anything silly like that, just me. I..."

* * *

Teirm hadn't changed in the slightest. Security had ramped up, but not in a manner that impeded their progress. Ikharos could feel the eyes of the guards on him for his unusual clothing, but he knew it would be enough to escape detection. He, like most Guardians, did not seem dangerous without his equipment. It did, however, go both ways, and he felt helpless without his weapons - unarmed save for his knife.

He tried to mirror the way Edmont acted, completely at ease, but he couldn't help feeling for the Void whenever they ventured too close to an Imperial soldier for his liking. And if they found a mage, he wouldn't be able to help himself.

"Find out if Jeod still lives here." Ikharos handed Edmont a small beeping device. "If there's any trouble, press the big button and we'll be on our way."

"U-uh..." The sailor lifted the small beacon for a closer look. "Is this..."

"No. I made it last night, out of spare parts. It'll send me a signal."

"Oh." The lack of anything magic related seemed to comfort Edmont. "I'll be off."

The sailor left them by the markets, now beginning to crowd. Ikharos and Tellesa melded into the crowd and moved from stall to stall. She picked out what they needed and he paid for it, but to their dissatisfaction, there was an absence of winter clothing. Which wasn't entirely unexpected, as it was still the last days of summer and entering the Spine was just beyond comprehension for most.

"We have enough food to last for months," Tellesa said. "How did you come by so much wealth?"

Ikharos shrugged. "Traded something shiny."

She looked around, checking for guards, then asked. "How will we find Edmont?"

"The beacon's a tracking device too. It won't be a problem."

Tellesa gave him a funny look. "So it is magic?"

"No. It just uses radio waves." Seeing as she didn't follow, he elaborated. "It sends invisible waves of... let's say it's similar to sound, but you can't hear it. My tracker-" he held up a duplicate of Edmont's machine. "-will pick up on those waves and follow it to the source. That's not the most accurate of analogies..."

She peered closer at the device. "How did your people discover it?"

"We're... a very science-orientated people. Making discoveries and inventing new tools is something we've been doing for a very long time." He started walking in the indicated direction. "And I've had ample time to learn a few tricks."

* * *

Though they blended in well with the civilians and farmers from beyond the walls in the markets, the tracker led them to a wealthier area where they drew suspicious looks. There was little guard presence, but what soldiers were there watched them like hawks.

They found themselves in front of a small shop that seemed very out of place among these rich dwellings, what with the overgrown plants blocking the windows and the cheery sign. It looked far more welcoming than any other building. Still, it didn't look like a place a merchant would live in, and yet Edmont's tracker led them here.

Tellesa and Ikharos shared a look, then approached the shop. The door was already open. The inside was filled with all sorts of knickknacks, as well as the man they were searching for. Edmont sat on a stool opposite a grinning woman with dark curly hair and an abnormally large red-eyed cat curled up beside her. The shopkeeper (for that was what he assumed she was) looked up as they entered and grinned. "Here's your friends now!"

"Aye, here they are." Edmont waved them over.

"I'm assuming this isn't Jeod," Tellesa remarked.

The shopkeeper laughed. "Nonono, not me! I'm-"

_Angela._

Ikharos froze. That wasn't Xiān's voice. His defences raised, he swept the room over with his mind, checking for anomalies.

The cat hissed. _No need for that._

He found it. "Ahamkara?"

_I'm afraid not, dragon-slayer. You may call my kind werecats._

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

_You are far from home. Did you think this would be the same as the lands you knew?_

His Ghost dropped the Lumina in his hand and he aimed it directly at the beast. "No. But then again, some things don't change."

The cat blinked lazily and put its head on the wooden floorboards. _Paranoia like that may kill you. Or worse._

"Am I wrong?"

"Oi!" The shopkeeper, Angela, didn't look very pleased. "There aren't many that Solembum will speak to, but you have to be the rudest of them all! Do you threaten everyone you meet?!"

"Only the special ones." The cannon's aim didn't waver in the slightest. "Is there a reason I shouldn't shoot?"

She looked at the hand cannon suspiciously. If he didn't know better, she appeared to understand how the gun worked. Or at least where the bullets came from. "Yes. He's my friend and I would prefer you don't kill him."

"Don't we all wish the same thing? Not a very good reason."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're one of those types. He knew you would come, and he has asked me to tell your future. All of you. That's a rare treat, especially from him."

_There's a mirror in the corner. Check for yourself._

"Works for me. Tellesa," Ikharos glanced at his companions, who were staring at him and the cat in equal measure, and snapped his fingers. He had to break them out of that. "That mirror, over there, bring it over."

She moved slowly, hesitation slowing her, but in the end the mirror was planted before the cat. It's image was just a reflection. Ikharos couldn't find any force acting on it. He lowered the gun, but never put it away. "Then what are you?"

_I've told you. Werecat._

"That doesn't explain anything."

_Not everything has to. I thought you were supposed to know this._

"I-Ikharos?" Edmont asked quietly. "Did the cat just talk?"

"It did."

"Oh my days..."

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking."

"Werecats!" Tellesa exclaimed, far more gleeful than what the natural reaction to a paracausal feline should be. "I've heard of your kind in the grandest of tales! The Masters of the Arcaena used to consult your people for advice."

 _At least someone has some respect._ The cat yawned, revealing fangs larger than any house pet should. More like a wildcat.

"Ikharos, the werecats are not our enemies. They don't take sides in the conflicts of the other races."

The Risen wasn't convinced. "In your war, maybe, not mine. Everything stands on one side or the other."

_I'm not your enemy. I swear this._

The Warlock met the cat's gaze and held it. "I don't care what you swear."

_Wise for most. Foolish for you._

"Our fortunes?" Tellesa asked Angela. Ikharos begrudgingly tore his attention away from the supposed werecat. If he could gain access to a preserved specimen, he might discover exactly how they came to be.

Angela, now glaring daggers at the Risen, huffed and retreated into the back of the shop.

"Edmont," Ikharos turned to the sailor. "Why are we here?"

The rebel was a pitiful sight. He was once more struck with fear of the unknown, overwhelmed by all the supposed magic. "I... wanted to ask for directions. She offered to tell our fortunes. I thought it would be alright..."

" _Does_ Jeod live nearby?" The Risen tested.

"Next house over."

"I'd like to know my future," Tellesa told him.

The Warlock blinked. "I doubt it will work. It is not a skill easily learned, especially for a human. I have only ever known the Awoken Tech Witches to manage it without going mad."

"W-witches?" Edmont stuttered. Ikharos sighed.

Angela returned moments later with a leather pouch and set it on the floor. She laid a cloth down and then poured out the pouch's contents; all smooth bones with different foreign symbols upon them. Nothing quite like Fallen runes or Hive glyphs. "These are dragon knucklebones and-"

The Lumina now pointed at the bones, while its owner attempted to decipher and hopefully pierce the illusion the bones were conveying. Or rather, he attempted to. Angela slapped his hand away. "STOP IT!"

"They're..." He grabbed the mirror and held it over them. Again, nothing out of place. He put it aside and scowled. There was something odd about how they chafed against his Light, but nothing truly identifiable as Ahamkara. "Not dragon bones."

"WILL YOU STOP IT?!" The shopkeeper practically shrieked. Ikharos bit his cheek to keep back the scathing retort. Angela took a few seconds to steady her breathing, but her furious stare never left the Warlock. "As I was about to say, these are dragon knucklebones. They have true power and they do not lie. If you wish, I will cast and attempt to decipher them for you, if you are sure you wish to know."

"All of us?" Tellesa pressed.

"Yes. Even this one, as irritating as he is."

"I'm trying to keep us alive..." The Risen grumbled.

"Did you see a sign outside that said we want safety in here? No?"

"No one does-"

"It's because I avoided putting one up."

"That doesn't... nevermind."

Angela turned to the others. "Who first?"

Edmont raised his hand slowly. "All of us?"

"Of course."

"Why?"

"Because Solembum asked me to. And he likes you all. Even you, for some reason," she sent the Warlock a pointed look.

Ikharos tasted blood. Any more of this and there wouldn't be any cheek left to bite.

"I'll go for it," Tellesa announced.

Angela grasped the bones in both hands and closed her eyes, then said, "Manin! Wyrda! Huginn!"

If there was any doubt that Ahamkara were involved in this world, it just jumped out the window. The shopkeeper just recited the names of an Ahamkara. The one he had slain. The other words were unfamiliar, but there was a fair chance they were the Wish-Dragons too. It set him on edge.

Angela tossed the bones back onto the cloth and she reopened her eyes to study them. She took her time to look them over, leaned back and sighed. "Difficult."

"My future?"

"No, the reading."

"Oh."

The shopkeeper pointed to one bone in particular. "The spear. You will be a warrior. That is the clearest I can see. The rest are jumbled... but their meanings are not impossible. The lightning bolt, the arrow, the half-arrow and the knot. A stranger combination I've never seen. The lightning bolt is a terrible omen. It is doom and death, one that is approaching, to haunt your later journey. See how it touches this bone? The knot is hope, but it will be affected by your loss. You will feel it keenly, even as you heal. The arrow is odd. It means justice. For a past wrong or future, I do not know, but those who act against you will have their actions judged. And the half-arrow. Chaos, for its flight is never predictable. It lies in the centre of it all. Your understand of all will be thrown into question as forces beyond comprehension affect your life."

Tellesa nodded numbly, but a dark smile broke across her face. Ikharos knew she was thinking of the justice element. If there was any merit to this, then it ensured their hunt would be successful. That said, he wouldn't put faith into the bones of whatever farm animal it truly was. And the death of the Shade was certain. With a Risen set on the death of the Dark creature, nothing would save it.

"Next?" Angela asked innocently. She turned to Edmont. "You?"

"Alright." The sailor rolled his shoulders, as if he were about to march off to battle.

Angela repeated the process and once more Ikharos flinched. That damn name.

* * *

_A long serpent coiling about the mountain, head as large as a Skiff and feathered wings longer than a Ketch was wide, the Vex below simultaneously worshipping and shooting it. It was mayhem. Total, inexplicable chaos._

_The serpent brought its head closer to the river banks where he stood. "Shall I grant you a vision, o visitor mine? Do you wish to understand why they all fight?"_

_Even now, he could still hear the rapid popping of gunfire as Eris, Shaxx, Wei Ning and many others fought for all they had._

_"No," the Warlock said, his mind blank. "I do not desire that."_

_He raised his rifle, one of the many supplied by the Reef for this venture, and opened fire. Huginn laughed._

* * *

"This is much simpler." Angela wiped her brow. "The spear again. You will be a warrior of renown. The arrow too, which leads me to think you were both dealt a past crime, for which you will have justice. The tree... ah, it touches the spear! You will have those you think of as family amongst your comrades, brothers-in-arms. The diamond indicates potential and the ship means travel, so I imagine you will find grand adventures on your journey across land and sea"

Edmont nodded and gave a relieved sigh. "Thanking ye."

"And you," the fortune-teller's voice grew bitter. There was no question whom she was addressing.

"Why not?" Ikharos kept his eyes on those bones. He couldn't place it, but there was a force exerting itself on them. He didn't know if it was Light or Dark and that worried him.

The fortune-teller tossed the bones and reiterated her incantation for the third time. She took in the sight before her and her features expressed puzzlement. "This... oh."

"Bad?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow.

"Very, very complicated. This is... I've never seen anything like it. Here, the lightning bolt, spear and hawthorn root. You've survived a great catastrophe yet it is not over. It will come back for you. A war unlike any other."

The Warlock shifted. "Any catastrophe in particular?"

"I cannot tell. If there is more than one, it may mean all of them. And these two... the dagger and the half-arrow. Those you see as foes may not be so."

Ikharos didn't know what to make of that. The only example of that he could imagine was the Fallen House of Light, but they yet remained on Earth. Or perhaps it meant the Reef? He couldn't imagine that. There were times when tensions were high, but there was never any enmity between the Guardians and the Reefborn. When Uldren broke out of the Prison of Elders with the Scorn, he had betrayed his own people too. The Guardians and Corsairs worked together in the Dreaming City to fight the same foes. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I, but that's not my problem. Now, get out."

"With pleasure," the Warlock growled. He stalked out without sparing either the shopkeeper or werecat a second glance. His companions remained to say their goodbyes and then followed him back onto the street.

Tellesa regarded him balefully. "What was that?"

Xiān took the Lumina from the Warlock's grasp as he spoke. "None of that was natural. I've never even heard of werecats!"

"Now you have. And I would rather we don't make an enemy of them."

Ikharos gritted his teeth. "Then they should stay away from my mind. Anything that tries that again, I will destroy it."

There was no question whether he could or not. Both his companions saw the aftermath of his handiwork. But one simply didn't care.

Tellesa jabbed a finger onto his chest. "You might have power, but it does not make you any more a king of Alagaësia than Galbatorix. Killing those who serve the king or oppress the innocent people of this land is one thing, attacking others for merely having their own power is another."

"It is not so simple."

"It should be."

He was angry but he knew she was partially right. Forcing down the Arc that bubbled up in response to his mood, Ikharos turned to Edmont. "Jeod?"

The sailor looked between them. "Uh... follow me."

Jeod's home was just to the right of the shop. Edmont knocked three times. A woman, who didn't appear to appreciate the visit if her irritated expression was any indication, answered the door. "Yes?"

"We're looking for Jeod," Edmont told her. "He and I used to work together."

"He is busy."

"Ah, well-"

"We come from Kuasta." Ikharos continued.

Her eyes darted to him. "Who are you?"

"I am Edmont," the sailor told her. "And these are my companions."

She looked at them thoughtfully. "Very well. I will ask him."

The door closed.

"Why did you tell her?" Tellesa hissed.

Ikharos shrugged. "Easiest way to deal with her. I don't think many know what has happened, but I doubt it has gone entirely unnoticed. Especially here, where there would be links between both cities. She is curious. We've piqued that curiosity."

"It might land us in trouble."

"I doubt we will be here long enough."

The door opened once more, this time by a tall man wearing expensive clothing. He had an odd scar running from his scalp to his temple. His gaze instantly settled on Edmont and a wide smile broke across his face. "Edmont!"

"Jeod!" The two men clasped arms.

"It's been some time!"

"That it has."

"How's Rendan?"

"He's..." Edmont's features, which had once mirrored that of his friend, gave way to pain that was ever lurking below the surface. The sailor struggled for the words. "He's not with us."

"Oh... I think we should talk." Jeod turned to the others. "Who are these?"

"Friends, I assure ye. This is Tellesa and Ikharos. They share our... ideals."

"I understand. Come in, come in!" Jeod waved them in and led them to a study, surrounded by bookshelves stocked full of knowledge. Their new acquaintance threw a handful of logs into the heart and lit it, then sat at an oval desk and gestured for them to join him. "Now, my friend, I've been hearing the strangest rumours coming out of Kuasta. You must tell me, what has... wait."

He stood up, closed the door to the study and locked it. "There. We may speak freely."

Edmont waited for Jeod to return to his seat before beginning. "We... rebelled."

"And have been for some time. Don't forget poor Rendan and I spoke to one another through letters brought by the merchant ships."

"Not like that. We rose up. Everyone. We fought the Imperials."

"Truly?"

"We even defeated them. Lord Madlin was killed, his garrisons defeated and both the city and the villages freed."

"A true uprising!" Jeod grinned. "This may be the spark needed to-"

"Kuasta is gone."

"I... what?"

"Urgals came in force. They wiped out every village, though all of Kuastan lands had retreated to the city."

"Gods…"

"We prepared for a siege, yet we couldn't expect or fight off the Shade with them."

"A Shade?!" Jeod exclaimed. "That can't be true."

"It is," Ikharos cut in. "We've seen it, all of us. It's why we're here."

"I don't understand… Gods..."

"We've tracked it north. We don't know where it is now, but I expect it won't leave the safety of the Spine. Edmont said that you might be able to aid us?"

"So many... " Jeod appeared numbed by the revelation, but he perked up a few moments later. " Apologies, but it sounds as if you mean to hunt it."

"We are."

He gasped. "That is insanity! That... oh... Kuasta is… all gone?"

"And everyone with it, bar a handful of survivors."

"This is terrible…" Jeod leaned back. "You have my sympathies, truly... but none can stand against a Shade. I understand the need for vengeance, but you will not defeat such a creatuer."

Edmont shook his head. "Not by I or Tellesa, but Ikharos can. The things he can do... Jeod, my friend, I do not jest when I say he is the greatest warrior I have ever seen. He has magic too!" The sailor made a face. "Scares the life out of me."

"You must be the wizard!" Jeod looked at the Warlock with a new understanding. He chuckled drily. "Don't think it has gone unnoticed. Talk of your flight in this city prevails to this day! I wondered where you had gone..."

"It was just gliding. And I'm not a wizard," Ikharos corrected. "I've seen what you people call wizards. I'm an entirely different creature."

"What do you mean?"

"A Guardian. We are... it's a long story, and all the time we waste here is time the Shade has to escape us. Can you help us or not?"

Jeod frowned. "I don't know what I can do but... Rendan, my friend... so many lives lost... What do you need?"

Tellesa spoke up. "Clothing and equipment to survive the Spine. We have food to last some time, but not much else. We were forced to traverse the passes between the Spine to the south of here. It cost us too much time."

"On that I can assist." Jeod stood and walked over to the fire, grabbed a poker and prodded at the flames. "So much death... This is terrible news. Worse than anything I feared. I am sorry, I truly am. I will never be able to relate to your loss. I can, however, offer you a comfortable bed and hot dinner for tonight, while I fetch the supplies you will need. If you need anything else, ask it."

Ikharos didn't even hesitate. "Might I have a look at your books?"

Jeod turned to him, a sad smile forming. "A scholar too, eh? Of course, feel free to read to your heart's content. Might I ask a few questions, if only to sat my need for understanding?"

"Go ahead."

"What are your Guardians."

Ikharos paused. "We are a... type of soldier in short, capable of using Light to fight. I'm from a foreign land so many of the concepts are difficult to explain."

* * *

Though he was absorbed in the many tomes he had picked at random - the workings of ships and the skills necessary to sail were of particular note - he still listened in to the conversation of others.

"How did you both know each other?"

"Arcaena," Jeod said, the same time Edmont said "sailing."

The two laughed.

"I was in Kuasta, overseeing one of my ships, when I became curious about the Arcaena," the merchant elaborated. "I was sympathetic to the rebels at the time, and nothing was quite as moving as the tale of the Arcaena faith, eradicated by the empire. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it wasn't."

"You know about..."

"More than that. I met Rendan in Kuasta. He was still with the army at the time. He introduced me to the monks. Oh my, the Reliquary... I've always enjoyed books and there is no collection quite like theirs."

Edmont laughed. "He nearly got himself killed. All he did was gush about them books in Arcaena libraries. Any real Imperials hear that, they'd have strung him up. I had to make him shut up."

"That was when I realized that there was a rebel in my crew. It made me a little more than sympathetic. Rendan and Edmont were my introduction to the Varden. They helped me get in touch with the other elements of it."

"Huh," Tellesa trailed off. "Is... is it possible to get word to the Varden?"

"Perhaps."

"They need to know what's happened. To Kuasta."

"Oh, I know. I will send a message, don't you worry."

* * *

It felt nice to have an actual bed for once, but he knew it wasn't to last. Ikharos, Tellesa and Edmont were up early the next morning, each of them feeling well rested. Jeod joined them before long and directed them to a pile of furs and cloaks.

"Take what you need. I doubt I will need it." He said. Edmont and Tellesa picked out the coats, cloaks, boots and gloves they sorely needed. Jeod didn't miss that the Warlock passed up on the offer. "What of you?"

"I have armour designed for far more hostile environments," Ikharos replied. "But thank you for the offer."

"Yes, thank you!" Tellesa called over her shoulder. She had picked out a fine dark green cloak complete with a hood - all very Hunter-esque.

"It is my pleasure. And... I wish you luck. Shades are monstrous creatures bent on causing destruction and misery wherever they go. I hope you will prevail."

The Warlock inclined his head and left. Tellesa followed him shortly after, leaving Edmont to say his goodbyes to his old friend.

"Do you think you can manage it?"

"Hm?"

Tellesa fixed him with a serious look. "The Shade. Can you defeat it?"

"I almost did before, when my Light was almost out and it had an army at his side. I'm confident I can finish the job whenever I next encounter it."

"Maybe our fortunes are true. I think it was referring to this. Justice will be served."

Ikharos turned sharply. "There is a fine line between justice and vengeance. One I know all too well. Watch that your desire to see it dead doesn't overwhelm you."

"And what of you?" Tellesa retorted. "You are as determined as I am."

"This is my duty."

"And my purpose."

"It is your choice. I'm not trying to dissuade you, just... keep control over yourself."

Edmont gave Jeod a final manly embrace and joined them on the street. "Are we ready?"

Ikharos nodded. "We are."

* * *

"Did you believe a word of it?"

"The foretold future?" Ikharos gave it some thought. "Elements of it were oddly familiar, but no, I don't. It might just have luckily hit on enough coincidences to plant seeds of doubt."

"Probably for the best. Knowing about the future is an icky matter we don't want." Xiān shivered.

"Not all future-related topics are Vex."

"Those freaky robot-wearing radiolaria critters have their spooky fingers in everything. I bet there's a few here."

Ikharo rolled his eyes. "We'll see."

* * *

The Shade hadn't come to Teirm or anywhere near it. That meant it chose the inner empire, but Ikharos had a feeling it was sticking close to the Spine. That was their destination. It would be a long shot, but they would track down any rumour of Urgal activity and use that to pinpoint the Shade's location. They headed directly east, straight into the Spine, forgoing the roads that followed the Toark river and Woadark Lake. It was still easier to use the passes and valleys between the peaks, but now with proper equipment, they could hike over slopes and ridges to take short cuts. The conditions were poor, but they were dead set on this mission. The land was hard to travel over, the cold winds howled down from the mountains and rain was often an irritation, yet they persevered. Neither Edmont or Tellesa complained.

There were a few moments where Ikharos thought it would be the end for them. A narrow ridge with steep slopes on either side partially collapsed while they were walking on it, and Edmont almost plummeted to his death.

The worst was when they were set upon by wolves.

The moment he heard them, Ikharos was up and with the Lumina in hand. "Trouble!"

Edmont plucked a walking stick that doubled as a spear from the ground beside him, but Tellesa made the mistake of scrambling for the Tigerspite, which laid beside their packs near the edge of their camp. A wolf leapt before her, bared its teeth and snarled. It, and the others, were thin and drooling from the jaws. Desperation could drive people and animals to do previously unimaginable things.

She didn't flinch and kicked it hard. The animal yelped and it allowed her the chance to grab her rifle. Ikharos wasn't able to see any more, as a trio of beasts had decided he would make an easy target. He strove to prove them wrong.

When all were dead, he spared a glance for his companions. Edmont had two at his feet, his spear bloodied, but Tellesa had a larger body count. The Tigerspite had roared furiously and erased the lives of five starving hounds. Her aim had improved.

* * *

It was another week before they reached the other side of the Spine. They turned north and breathed a sigh of relief. The going was easier from there on out, traveling by the side of the mountain range. There was little to nothing nearby in terms of civilisation, but there were plenty of settlements to the north ripe for attack. If the Urgals were being split into smaller hosts, for whatever reason, then it was possible that they aimed to take advantage of the scattered state of the northern towns and villages.

* * *

Fläm Lake was without any permanent settlers, but it was a popular spot for travelers to refill water flasks and rest up for the journey ahead. They were no different.

They weren't alone in that. It was their first sighting of other humans - aside from each other - that they've had in some time. While Ikharos was content to stay back, his companions made the effort to reconnect with the world. He didn't mind. It was time he could spend further reflecting on the many puzzles of the planet he was now a denizen on, willing or not.

**000**

"Are you the Traders?" Tellesa asked.

The elderly man before her nodded and smiled. "That we are. Headed north to make our profits. What brings you so far from anywhere?"

She decided to keep it vague. Lies could be difficult, but half-truths worked wonders. It had worked with the Imperials in Kuasta. "My associates and I, we are hunters."

"Ah, pelts. I'm sure there's lots of game north." The old man nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, a fine trade, but hard. Still, the roads are getting dangerous. I don't know if the trips are worth it any longer."

"Why is that?"

"Urgals, blast them. They've been making themselves a nuisance. And I've heard tales that they're being riled up. I wouldn't want to get in the way of that. The sooner we are finished, the better." The merchant sighed wistfully. "I think this may be my last trip. I'll settle down in Belatona and let my sons take over this business."

"May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead, my dear."

"I'll need to discuss this with my companions, but would it be too troublesome if we traveled with you?"

The old man shook his head. "I don't see why not. I think it might be safer for everyone involved. The Spine is treacherous, just as the creatures that come out of it."

"Thank you."

* * *

"This is good," Ikharos nodded. Tellesa was glad they could agree on that. "The Traders are an enticing target for any bandit. The Urgals won't be able to resist.

"It'll be a welcome change." Edmont grinned. "Both of ye set a pace meant to kill most men."

She couldn't disagree. Her desire to see the monster dead drove her to the brink of her ability, but she wasn't blinded to the exhaustion building up. This would be a time to build up on her strength and prepare. All she could hope for was that the Urgals weren't far. Tellesa didn't want to see the Traders hurt, but with Ikharos present, she doubted any harm would befall them.

She smiled. Finally. Retribution was at hand.


	12. Journey III

"Your friend is odd."

Tellesa followed the traveling troubadour's gaze. "Ikharos? I suppose he is. He's from foreign lands."

"Really? That explains his strange garb. I've never seen a hunter wearing armour, or whatever it is." Glafni perked up. "Imagine the tales they could tell... Has he told you much of his homeland?"

She shrugged. "He has, but much of it makes little sense." She had the sudden, horrifying image of the troubadours amongst the Traders overcrowding the Guardian. She couldn't imagine it going well, with his current dark mood. "I think he likes to be alone with his thoughts."

Glafni deflated, but he nodded in understanding. "Ah, I know the kind. My nan was like that. She always thought we're out to steal her gold. Not that there was much of it when I had a gander..."

"Perhaps someone else found it first?"

"Of course!" The troubadour stood up. "Excuse me, but I need to find my brother. I tell you, if that dolt didn't share, he will be getting an earful."

Tellesa smiled and sipped from the last of the weak mead. Joining the Traders had been the right move, and not just because it provided a chance to find the Urgals. Her rage still burned ferociously to see the monsters responsible for Kuasta dead, yet this was... nice. It was almost normal. Here, she could talk to people, make friends, and just plainly live. She hadn't known what that was like for a long time. The rebellion had always been her focus since her childhood. To see the Imperials brought down... it was the greatest moment in her life. Then it all came crashing down in the form of an Urgal host. It had been hard going since then.

Edmont was a fellow rebel and survivor, but they were hardly friends. He had a sailor's superstitions, which collided horribly with her Arcaena-orientated upbringing. And Ikharos was too strange, too intense. He had the aura of a practised killer or an introverted scholar. Both made for poor company when crossing the wilds of Alagaësia.

Tellesa sighed and put aside her flask. They may not be easy companions, but it didn't mean she wouldn't try. Ikharos' eyes never moved from the direction of the Spine, even as she joined his vigil. It wasn't yet dark, though the brightest of stars still shone in the half light, eager to illuminate the world.

"A beautiful night," she murmured.

The Guardian didn't move. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing. "It is." He paused. "You've acclimated well."

"They've welcomed me. It's nice."

His helmet had been removed. It meant he didn't expect trouble. As much as he spoke of his past experiences, she learned more from his actions. He always had armour and weapons equipped if he suspected there could be danger, unless the occasion demanded otherwise. He had his weapon - the Lumina - on the ground before him separated into a dozen pieces. He was fond of that tool. That she could relate to. It was nice to have something solid to anchor yourself in reality, even as the entire world around you morphed into something unrecognizable. Her Tigerspite, though she did not quite understand how it functioned, was a gift she appreciated. It helped her hold her own where another weapon would have failed her. And yet that power was frightening. She could point, pull the trigger, and a life would be snuffed out.

"You always start your killers young."

Tellesa looked at Ikharos sharply. "What?"

He still refused to be anything other than a statue, his lips barely moving to form the precise words in that soft tone. "Start your killers young. Start them with something small. That's why Guardians are so efficient. Often, we're barely alive before something tries to kill us. The wolves were your introduction. It'll be easier from now on."

"I'm not comfortable with that."

"It's not about being comfortable. It's about being alive. You survived where many didn't. It's made you a target. If the Shade finds out, do you think it will ignore you?"

"How did you..?" Tellesa asked curiously. "Just moments ago, it was as if you knew what I was thinking."

Ikharos looked back to the mountains and forests. "Telepathy is one of the most common abilities I've seen. Psions use it, Techeuns use it, almost every Awoken is capable of it - though most can't do much more than detect the presence of others - and Warlocks can use it. Hive use it. The Cabal emperor can use it. The Nine can use it. Ahamkara, Worms, and Ghosts. I'm not about to profess I can control minds, though I can fend off any mental attack. And, well, your thoughts were really loud."

"Loud?"

"As if you were talking next to me, but it sounded... I want to say clouded. It doesn't sound sensible, but that's all I can describe it as."

"I don't follow."

"It's difficult to explain. But... I probably should." The Guardian glanced around. "The minds of most are open and defenceless. Anyone skilled in mental warfare could infiltrate their thoughts and memories with ease. You and Edmont both need mental blocks, if you want to survive any further."

"I need to defend my very mind?" Tellesa asked dubiously.

"Yes. It's easiest to just focus on one thing and one thing only as a defence, but you need to be fully aware that another is attempting to attack. If you will allow me, I can place defences which will make it much easier."

"How?"

"Inserting some dormant memories. You won't feel a difference whatsoever, aside from the advantages if you ever have the bad luck to face something specialising in attacking your consciousness."

Xiān appeared between them. Even after some time, Tellesa could never grow accustomed to the sight of the Ghost. It didn't help that it chose to leave them be for days at a time, then randomly pop in to add to whatever pointless conversations they were having. Its shell resembled a metal flower with petals of gold and emerald, but the smouldering eye at the centre was all piercing flame. It wasn't a human, and that unnerved her. "It's harmless, but necessary."

She didn't hesitate. "Do it."

Ikharos nodded. "There. Done. Warlock-grade mind blocks. Designed by the Praxic Order. They were handed out the moment they were invented in preparation for the Martian Front. We'd lost too many to the Psion Flayers. They saved lives. It might save yours." He stood up. "Where's Edmont?"

"I believe he's speaking with the grain merchants."

"Should I tell him? He might freak out."

"Yes. He has a right to know."

The Guardian tilted his head. "I suppose so. Goodnight, Tellesa. Keep your Tigerspite handy. Our foes may reveal themselves yet."

**000**

Epirion was empty of anything notable. The fourth planet had a primitive form of sentient life that the Worldbreakers immediately set to subjugating.

Zhonoch was there with the rank and file as the Vex started popping into existence. The domination of an entire planet turned into a mass battlefield everywhere, on each continent and in their orbiting ships.

"This is insanity!" Tlac yelled as a maddened Phalanx beat a Minotaur to death with its own severed arm not two Cabal paces away. A Hobgoblin Line Rifle put an end to that soldier.

Zhonoch laughed and kicked a Harpy away. "This is great!"

The Psion snatched two Goblins with his mind and merged them together in a mess of metal and radiolaria. The Vigilant shot down a score of other robots with his slug rifle, but then the central Vex network calculated the potential damage the two posed was too costly and forced them to take cover behind a small building. One of the residents ran out screaming. Zhonoch caught it by the scruff of its neck and bellowed into its face, "where's your spirit?!"

The native shrieked in fright. The Vigilant tossed it away, where it started running again. A Vex grabbed the poor creature and snapped its neck with mechanical efficiency.

"That's done and shut," Tlac grumbled. The Vigilant roared and burst out of cover, his shield generator absorbing every hit the Vex threw against him with their disturbingly on-point accuracy. The Psion Specialist cursed and joined the ex-Gladiator.

The squadron of traitors barely had a chance to notice the fast approaching Vigilant in the midst of a Vex mess before they started dropping. Zhonoch was brutal and efficient, employing methods of dead alien civilisations, styles and stances that are just not the Legion norm. Tlac covered him with his mind to attack the connection between the maniple's equipment and the Cabal Battle Network, assaulting their very weapons. It sent them into disarray, damning them to the Vigilant's wristblade. At first they fought, then they panicked, and then they died.

The Vex never relented.

"We need to leave!" Tlac yelled.

"More!"

"You madman, there's too many!"

Zhonoch faltered. The robots were grouped up in imitations of Cabal formations, surrounding the native village and slaughtering the residents. The Vigilant saw reason through his bloodlust and fell back with the Psion, back to more secure positions. They hoped the murder spree would go unnoticed with the battle all around. The Worldbreakers would have their hides if they found out. The Vigilant grinned. The risks made it all the more exhilarating.

**000**

It had been weeks and yet there had been no Urgal sighting. Ikharos wondered whether they'd ever find them, but the Traders were adamant that there had been rumours of such northwards. Their pace frustrated him to no end. He often took to walking off and circling around the caravan, then steadily increasing the perimeter he patrolled. On a day with nice weather and open fields, he'd even go so far as a couple miles off. Still, no matter what he did, he couldn't find any sign of those he hunted.

"Psekisk!" The Warlock swore, startling a pair of singing birds into flight. They hadn't realized he was there up until his outburst.

Xiān joined him. "Nothing. We could be wasting our time here."

Ikharos slammed his gathered Void into a nearby boulder, shattering it into dust. "This is impossible!"

"What? The Shade or-"

"Everything about this world!" He relaxed his grip and allowed the inescapable gravities of the universe to slip from his control. A nervous calm fell over the life of the meadow. "Too little makes sense..."

"Then let's hope we find something." The Ghost told him. "Come on, let's face it, this place is doing well. People here are _alive_. There's a world's worth of humans, untouched by Fallen or Hive. That's a plus."

Ikharos sighed. "There is that."

* * *

"Where are you headed, exactly?"

Glafni, one of the few brave enough to speak with the Warlock, shrugged. "Therinsford, Carvahall and then double around to the coast. There's a few villages and towns thataways."

"Doramb?"

"Ah, yes..." The minstrel raised an eyebrow. "Have you been there?"

Ikharos inclined his head. "I have. They previously had an Urgal problem."

"Many do," Glafni spat. "Beasts are becoming more than a nuisance. Many of them are going southeast, I've heard, though I don't know why."

Ah. "Excuse me a moment." Ikharos slowed and joined his companions. "We may have a problem."

"What is it?" Tellesa asked.

The Warlock glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers, and said in a low voice, "It seems the Urgals are moving southeast."

"But we tracked them north," Edmont argued.

"That's the problem. Maybe the sources are wrong, but... we might be heading the wrong way."

Tellesa cursed. "Then we've lost the bastards."

"Not necessarily. Look, if we don't find anything soon, then we head south. The Urgals can't hide from us forever. We will find them, given enough time."

* * *

Though the distance to Therinsford was the same as it was from Teirm to the Fläm Lake and easier for the presence of basic roads, the Traders took twice the amount of time to reach the town. It was a scattered, unorderly place that the Risen took an instant dislike to. There was no way that it could withstand even the most basic of bandit attacks. A Warlord could ride in and tear it apart on a whim.

Thought that, he supposed, wasn't a fair comparison. Earth and Kepler-189f were very different places with very different dangers.

"Too exposed," Tellesa muttered.

Ikharos smiled. "Burhs take foresight and preparation to build. Not everyone has the patience for it."

"Then they'll die," she scoffed. "There's no challenge in it."

"I agree. Still, they've survived thus far. Maybe they have a secret weapon."

* * *

Therinsford had no secret weapon. It was exactly what it appeared to be; a defenceless mess. The Traders planned to stay for a few days, which gave rise to another issue.

"Edmont's gone."

Ikharos sighed. "Tavern?"

Tellesa nodded. She looked as tired as he was. "I swear, he treats it like a lifeline. It's not healthy to spend two entire days drinking."

"He's stressed and scared and hurt." The Warlock stood and put aside the book that Glafni had lent him. "And we haven't been very considerate."

The walk into the village was short and uneventful, though their surroundings were busy. It was midday and the residents were intent on buying all they needed from the traders. People threw the two suspicious looks, but he supposed that was warranted. They were armed to the teeth. Tellesa had her rifle slung over her back and an Imperial steel sword at her hip, while he had his Lumina and knife in their individual holsters.

Edmont was in the exact place they expected him to be, swigging from a mug of ale and bellowing at other patrons. He saw them coming and pointed. "Ah, 'ere's the wizard now!"

Tellesa crossed her arms. "You're drunk."

"That Ah am, lassie! 'nd a good ting too! Ah couldn't imagine bein' sober 'round yer bunch! Pair of stone-cold killers, both of yees."

Ikharos gently grasped the sailor's arm. "Come on. I think you've had enough."

"Nah, Ah could do wiv 'nother drop..." Edmont's legs buckled. The Warlock rolled his eyes and supported him on one side, Tellesa on the other.

"I don't think that would be healthy." Ignoring the stares the other drinkers gave them, they left with their drunken companion between them.

Tellesa fetched a bucket of ice-cold water from the nearby mountain streams. The Risen prepared a pot of tea. Edmont wasn't even conscious when everything was ready.

"You want to do it?" Tellesa asked.

Ikharos shrugged. "Might be better that I do it." He grasped the sailor by the collar and dunked his head into the water. He came up moments later spluttering and wild-eyed.

"WHAT THE FECK?"

"There he is..." The Warlock emptied Edmont's water flask and filled it with steaming tea. Usually he'd add a spoonful of milk and sugar, but he hadn't those luxuries at hand, so he made do. "Drink this."

"What the feck do you-"

"Now." His voice grew harsh. Edmont instantly went along with it and nursed the drink. The Warlock stepped back. "I'll buy food for a proper meal. Keep him here."

Tellesa nodded. "I will."

* * *

Ten crowns earned him a loaf of bread, a basket of vegetables, and a fresh quail from the butcher's. Though most of his rations were long gone, he still had a few items to enhance the meal.

Edmont looked better by the time he returned, but his mood was grim. His eyes brightened at the sight of fresh food, though, and that was a reaction Ikharos had hoped for.

"We won't have many opportunities to eat like this, so savour it."

Tellesa shot the Risen a wry look. "Are you trying to ruin the mood?"

"Sorry." He gathered spare kindling and started a fire. The bird was already cut into portions, perfect for cooking, and Xiān readied the pan. He seasoned the bird with salt and pepper, coated it in olive oil, and roasted it for a solid twenty minutes. Tellesa sliced the potatoes, carrots, and onions and added them to the pot. When it was ready, the Warlock served it in three equal portions. All of them burned their fingers in their haste to eat something other than dried meats or hard crackers. It was a treat for each member of their band.

When each plate was emptied, Ikharos sat back and turned to the sailor. "Feeling better?"

Edmont shrugged. "Somewhat. My skull will be pounding later."

"You drank a lot."

"Aye." The rebel cringed. "I did, didn't I? Feck... I just... everything is gone. Everything. That was my home. My family. All gone."

"It is," Ikharos agreed. "And I'm sorry. And I know saying I understand won't help you any, but I do know what it's like. Just, please, don't worry us. The three of us are in this together."

"Ye scare me, ye know that?"

"I've noticed. And your superstition irritates me. We aren't perfect, but we're working together."

"I thought ye said ye'd leave us behind if we lagged."

Ikharos shifted. "I think that time has passed."

Edmont nodded. "Ye've a good heart, even if ye practice vile magic."

"Thanks?"

"Speaking of, any cure for hangover?"

"I'm a Warlock, not a miracle worker. No."

"Dammit. Oh, this is going to be hell."

"Yes it is," Tellesa told him cheerfully. "Think of it as punishment from the gods for poor decisions."

* * *

Therinsford received no attack during their stay, despite its vulnerable state. The Traders enjoyed a profitable stay and moved on. Ikharos planned to stay with them until they stopped and then continue on northwards into the wilds. Considering the blatant destruction of Kuasta, the Urgals laying low was unusual to say the least. Reports of them attacking travelers was one thing, but they seemed to have left the area. This would be their last hope of finding them this year. Winter was upon them and the wilderness would be even harsher than before, too inhospitable for his mortal companions. The snows would mean their deaths. They had only so long before they would be forced back to civilisation, which would mean they might lose the Shade's scent entirely.

For once, Ikharos wished the Shade were more powerful. It was at that perfect stage where it wasn't yet strong enough to attract his attention at significant distance and yet capable of so much destruction.

Carvahall was not far from Therinsford - a mere four days away - and settled nicely in the Palancar Valley. Unlike the larger village, this one was a pleasant sight, ordered and with some strategic placing. Its greatest strength was easily how out-of-sight it was.

"That, I think, will outlast the other," he said.

Tellesa glanced around the valley. "It only takes one Urgal to find it."

Ikharos shrugged and carried onwards. The going was tougher than previously, with fresh snows falling every night now, but he persevered. His Light warmed him, and he shared that Light every night to start their fires and keep the cold at bay.

The Traders settled in an empty field on the outskirts of the village. Edmont cleared them a space not so far that they couldn't enjoy the shelter brought by the small neighbourhood of tents, yet distant enough that they had privacy. Tellesa went into the village to buy ingredients for dinner. Ikharos promised to cook it himself, using the seasonings he still had. It was rare, apparently, and delicious by the standards of his companions. Which was odd. It was common on Earth and the means to make it should have been brought within the _Exodus Prime_.

* * *

That night the furs were piled high and a makeshift pavilion erected above them, yet the winds still froze him to the bone. Perhaps it was only because he had not wrapped up, or that he was wearing normal clothes rather than the insulating Braytech suit, but Ikharos felt cold. And he was sure it wasn't just the temperature.

The fire flickered as something attacked it. Attacked his Light. He could feel it keenly; a broiling Darkness, stalking him like a tiger, rippling with power. It was sharp, forged on death and death and death. This world was a whetstone for it.

"Go away..." He muttered. It bristled, felt his uncertainty, and began to coil around him. It did not squeeze, did not stab or slice, but it sniffed around. It was looking for a weakness. And it found it. His Light, so little to be found in this unfamiliar world, retreated from the predator, hid away from that which sought to devour it. The once-stable Solar campfire was extinguished, plunging their camp into darkness and Darkness. No one, no thing, noticed but the twin ideologies battling within and without and the two who represented the losing side.

Ikharos flexed his stiff fingers and curled up. No matter how much he wanted it, the frost couldn't distract him from the raging war he was being subjected to and he hated that. Hated that there were two forces, unbelievably powerful, who only saw him as a tool, a husk to be worn. Was this what the Awoken felt, when they were riven in two?

"Ikharos." Xiān nestled against him. She shared his terror. This world wasn't like the one they hailed from. It was _wrong_. And it didn't like them.

The Warlock hugged her closer. Her shell exuded a faint warmth, the only thing keeping his heart weakly pumping. He realized that if he didn't do something quick, he was going to freeze to death and never get back up, yet neither of them could move as paracausal energies battled it out, keeping them in place as their beings were torn asunder.

* * *

He awoke with stiff joints and numbed lips. A thick blanket had been laid over him at some point. It was the only reason he was still alive.

"You are reckless," Tellesa scolded, stirring the stew filled with their supper's leftovers.

The Risen gratefully accepted a steaming bowl. It brought life back to his fingers. "I needed to be distracted."

"From what?"

It wasn't there anymore. His Light remained, too faint for anything other than reaching for the Void, but the Darkness was gone. And he knew there was no way it had retreated. It had spared him. And the Darkness knew no mercy. It had something else in mind. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Her incredulous expression showed how much she believed him. However, she didn't pry. He was grateful for that. "Edmont's asking around about Urgals. I have a feeling we won't find much." She closed her eyes. "We might have lost them for good."

"That won't be forever," he reminded her. Ikharos warily tasted the scalding stew. It was very, very good. "We have the means to keep looking."

"Maybe you do. I can't... I don't know if I can do this forever. Maybe you're right, those fortunes Angela gave us were false. I don't know if I'm willing to become a warrior. We might not find the Shade, let alone be able to kill him." Tellesa hugged her legs. "I was a rebel sympathiser. Now I'm an outlaw. I've spent my life searching for justice, but this world has none."

"Recognising injustice does not make a just world," the Warlock quietly said. "Another Risen told me that. During the Dark Age. He knew it better than anyone."

"Who was he?"

"Lord Felwinter, but I met him before the Iron Lords took him up. I swear, he was the only one of their order I in any way liked. The others were all excuses. He was action. It didn't matter what rules he broke, he saw that justice was served."

"How did he..."

"Die? Siva. A plague of sorts. A violent one. It ripped him and his Ghost apart from the inside. I only hope it was quick. He didn't have an easy life. None of my kind ever do." Ikharos stood. "I think I should get to work." He made to walk off, but stopped before he could fully leave the encampment. "Tellesa? Thank you."

* * *

The day after the Traders had arrived saw a sudden influx of activity. Crowds had formed around the newly sprung market, from all over Carvahall and beyond. It had been much the same in Therinsford. The snow had begun to melt in the day's heat, and with the help of the masses, churned the mud beneath into a glossy mess. The air was filled with the smell of food cooking and the hubbub of those buying and selling.

The Warlock drifted here and there for much of the day, inspecting everything in a casual manner with an eye kept on the surrounding valley, yet he neither heard or saw anything amiss. The people here didn't seem troubled, which was ironically not what he wanted.

"Ikharos!"

The Risen turned. "Glafni, Lofni, how are you both?"

The brothers - troubadours both - grinned in unison. They were identical, save for the differently coloured garb they sported. Glafni favoured reds while Lofni liked yellow. Their dress was flamboyant, though that was likely commonplace in minstrels. Lofni spoke first. "We're to perform and tell tales tonight!"

"Oh?"

"Carvahall is great for it. They enjoy a good story."

Glafni took over. "We were wondering if you would attend."

Ikharos chuckled. "In that case, I think I will. I look forward to it."

The minstrels cheered and danced away. The Guardian shook his head and continued onwards to explore the village. There was nothing out of place, not that he expected there to be. Still, it was worth checking. He retreated into the tavern, if only to warm up. Edmont was still under watch, but Ikharos was feeling charitable despite his close brush with death the night before. Perhaps a bottle of wine would go well with whatever they had tonight. Nothing was quite as fine as the palate he formerly enjoyed, but he still welcomed the odd drink. His nerves needed settling. The Darkness was an oppressive thing. It had been much the same in the Hive Dreadnaught and the worlds of Jovian space, where the Light was limited. It was much worse here. He would face more nights full of panic and fear, that was for certain.

He wondered if it was his fate to be drawn into every conflict conceivable, for within the building he found an argument already rising up, between the villagers and the cousins Kranti and Bolver - both cheap grain merchants.

"... angry with the Empire for treating people unfairly, a legitimate concern, but a government cannot please everyone," Kranti told any who listened. "There will inevitably be arguments and conflicts. However, the majority of us have nothing to complain about. Every country has some small group of malcontents who aren't satisfied with the balance of power."

"Yeah," a villager called. "If you're willing to call the Varden small."

Bolver must have noticed the Guardian's presence, for he said, "Ikharos, you come from another land, yes? Is it not the same where you come from?"

All eyes turned to the Warlock.

"No," he said. "It isn't."

Bolver continued on regardless, as if the Risen's words meant nothing. "The Varden have no inclination towards helping anyone but themselves. All they want is do is overthrow the king and take possession of our land. They have spies everywhere. You never know who might be working for them."

The Warlock shrugged to himself and strode over to the bar. The owner, a jovial man, smiled uncertainly. "What would you be having?"

"Wine, if you have it."

The barkeeper frowned. "I don't know... We might just have some in the back."

"I'd like a bottle, if you would, to hold onto for later." Ikharos dropped twenty crowns onto the counter. The man paled and scrambled to the back. The Warlock turned around if for nothing else than to enjoy the debate.

A youth stepped forward to speak. "How do you know this?" He asked the merchants. "I can say clouds are green, but that doesn't mean it's true. Prove you aren't lying."

Kranti glared at the boy. "Aren't your children taught respect? Or do you let boys challenge men whenever they want to?"

No one answered. Ikharos finally decided to add his own input. "I find the young ask us the right questions. They test the validity of our own knowledge."

Bolver, flustered, waved the question away. "It's only common sense."

The Risen leaned back against the bar. He could certainly see the situation getting violent if they kept their attitude up, but he felt no inclination to help them. He had no love for the empire.

The tavern owner returned with three bottles, more than he needed, and Ikharos brought them straight back to the camp. Tellesa and Edmont joined him before long. Supper was a quiet affair, but once more the meal was rich and left them satisfied. For lawless vigilantes, they dined well.

* * *

The minstrels drew quite the crowd. Children and adults both listened to each of the troubadours' fantastical stories of heroes and jesters. The brothers put on a show about an unfortunate hero who suffered from the worst luck in a highly comical manner. The Warlock found the lighthearted play amusing. Other tales were more grim in their themes, but the last was a different beast entirely.

An old man - not of the Traders, he knew for certain - stepped up for the final performance. A deep silence filled the camp, signaling the importance of the event. Ikharos paid much closer attention; this seemed like it was special.

"The sands of time cannot be stopped," the old bard began. "Years pass whether we will them or not... but we can remember. What has been lost may yet live on in memories. That which you will hear is imperfect and fragmented, yet treasure it, for without you it does not exist. I give you now a memory that has been forgotten, hidden in the dreamy haze that lies behind us. Before you grandfathers' fathers were born, and yea, even before their fathers, the Dragon Riders were formed."

Ikharos leaned forward. Dragons. This was one of the topics he had searched after fruitlessly for so very long.

"To protect and guard was their mission, and for thousands of years they succeeded. Their prowess in battle was unmatched, for they had the strength of ten men. They were immortal unless blade or poison took them."

He could feel Tellesa's surprised gaze turn on him. He was just as startled, though hid it better. The tale sounded a poor rendition of history, but already elements mirrored that of Earth's own past. Guardians were strong; the greatest warriors in mankind's entire history. They were immortal, save for the effects of the Darkness' weapons or the forced destruction of their Ghosts.

"For good only were their powers used, and under their tutelage tall cities and towers were built out of living stone."

The Last City could only be built with the assistance and protection of the gathered Risen.

"While they kept peace, the land flourished. It was a golden time."

Humans, Exos and Earthborn Awoken could farm and manufacture without fear of a Devils attack with the Titans patrolling the walls and the Hunters taking the fight straight to the enemy.

"The elves were our allies, the dwarves our friends. Wealth flowed into our cities, and men prospered. But weep... for it could not last."

The Red War saw an end to the safety of the City and a return to a couple settlements scattered around Earth, the Farm in the EDZ chief among them. There weren't enough Guardians left to keep the safety of the City. They couldn't even keep the Fallen from sneaking through the cracks in the walls. The inner city was all they had the resources and manpower to secure. Even in defeat, Ghaul had won. They would never have another Age of Triumph. Ghosts and Guardians were in limited supply. Now, each life counted.

"Though no enemy could destroy them, they could not guard against themselves. And it came to pass at the height of their power that a boy, Galbatorix by name, was born in the province of Inzilbêth, which is no more. At ten he was tested, as was the custom, and it was found that great power resided in him. The Riders accepted him as their own."

So the king had a connection to Ahamkara. That made him far more dangerous than Ikharos previously gave him credit for. It brought Mara Sov to mind, though this ruler was far less compassionate to his own people.

"Through their training he passed, exceeding all others in skill. Gifted with a sharp mind and strong body, he quickly took his place among the Riders' ranks. Some saw his abrupt rise as dangerous and warned the others, but the Riders had grown arrogant in their power and ignored caution. Alas, sorrow was conceived that day."

He thought that every occasion the Shadows of Yor were brought up. Shin was playing a dangerous game. He could easily give rise to the next Rezyl Azzir.

"So it was that soon after his training was finished, Galbatorix took a reckless trip with two friends. Far north they flew, night and day, and passed into the Urgals' remaining territory, foolishly thinking their new powers would protect them. There on a thick sheet of ice, unmelted even in summer, they were ambushed in their sleep. Though his friends and their dragons were butchered and he suffered great wounds, Galbatorix slew his attackers. Tragically, during the fight a stray arrow pierced his dragon's heart. Without the arts to save her, she died in his arms. Then were the seeds of madness planted."

Perhaps it could be translated that the king looted the bones of an Ahamkara he had slain. That would be a quick trip to insanity.

"Alone, bereft of much of his strength, and half mad with loss, Galbatorix wandered without hope in that desolate land, seeking death. It did not come to him, though he threw himself without fear against every living thing. Urgals and other monsters soon fled from his haunted form. During this time he came to realize that the Riders might grant him another dragon. Driven by this thought, he began the arduous journey, on foot, back through the Spine."

The half-dead state of loss and rage was something Ikharos had seen befall others. Guardians who had lost their Ghosts often suffered it. Not many survived the ordeal. Losing a Ghost was not just losing a lifelong friend; it was losing the Light. Losing the purpose of a Risen's existence.

"Territory he had soared over effortlessly on a dragon's back now took him months to traverse. He could hunt with magic, but oftentimes he walked in places where animals did not travel. Thus when his feet finally left the mountains, he was close to death. A farmer found him collapsed in the mud and summoned the Riders. Unconscious, he was taken to their holdings and his body healed. He slept for four days. Upon awakening he gave no sign of his fevered mind. When he was brought before a council convened to judge him, Galbatorix demanded another dragon. The desperation of the request revealed his dementia, and the council saw him for what he truly was. Denied his hope, Galbatorix, through the twisted mirror of his madness, came to believe it was the Riders' fault his dragon had died. Night after night he brooded on that and formulated a plan to exact revenge."

Nothing in the post-Collapse history reflected this. The harsh punishments of the Man with the Golden Gun and watchful gaze of the Praxic Order ensured rogue Lightbearers wouldn't pose a threat to humanity.

"He found a sympathetic Rider, and there his insidious words took root. By persistent reasoning and the use of dark secrets learned from a Shade-" At that, the Warlock turned to his companions. They too held suspicious expressions. "- he inflamed the Rider against their elders. Together they treacherously lured and killed an elder. When the foul deed was done, Galbatorix turned on his ally and slaughtered him without warning. The Riders found him, then, with blood dripping from his hands. A scream tore from his lips, and he fled into the night. As he was cunning in his madness, they could not find him. For years he hid in wastelands like a hunted animal, always watching for pursuers. His atrocity was not forgotten, but over time searches ceased. Then through some ill fortune he met a young Rider, Morzan - strong of body, but weak of mind. Galbatorix convinced Morzan to leave a gate unbolted in the citadel Ilirea, which is now called Urû'baen. Through this gate Galbatorix entered and stole a dragon hatchling.

"He and his new disciple hid themselves in an evil place where the Riders dared not venture. There Morzan entered into a dark apprenticeship, learning secrets and forbidden magic that should never have been revealed. When his instruction was finished and Galbatorix's black dragon, Shruikan, was fully grown, Galbatorix revealed himself to the world, with Morzan at his side. Together they fought any Rider they met. With each kill their strength grew."

It sounded like Sword Logic. If it were, then everything would be dead in their desire to sharpen themselves further.

"Twelve of the Riders joined Galbatorix out of desire for power and perceived wrongs. Those twelve, with Morzan, became the Thirteen Forsworn. The Riders were unprepared and fell beneath the onslaught. The elves, too, fought bitterly against Galbatorix, but they were overthrown and forced to flee to their secret places, from whence they come no more. Only Vrael, leader of the Riders, could resist Galbatorix and the Forsworn. Ancient and wise, he struggled to save what he could and keep the remaining dragons from falling to his enemies. In the last battle, before the gates of Dorú Areaba, Vrael defeated Galbatorix, but hesitated with the final blow. Galbatorix seized the moment and smote him in the side. Grievously wounded, Vrael fled to Utgard Mountain, where he hoped to gather strength. But it was not to be, for Galbatorix found him. As they fought, Galbatorix kicked Vrael in the fork of his legs. With that underhanded blow, he gained dominance over Vrael and removed his head with a blazing sword."

There was no such thing as an underhanded blow in true war. There were lines even he wouldn't cross, but he would still employ the most vicious tactics against the enemies of humanity. Ikharos didn't care for honour or glory; he wanted to win. The Fallen, the Cabal, the Vex, and the Hive all knew that truth. They all employed it. Those who didn't were already dead.

"Then as power rushed through his veins, Galbatorix anointed himself king over all Alagaësia. And from that day, he has ruled us."

The storyteller, who appeared thoroughly saddened by his own tale, departed. He had left the Warlock with many more questions. But now, for a change, Ikharos didn't mind. This was a clue. This gave him a lead.

"I've never heard it told like that," Tellesa said quietly. "But I'm glad I was here to witness the tale told."

"As am I," Ikharos replied. Finally. He had a lead.


	13. Answers I

"Dragon Riders?"

"Soldiers outfitted with Ahamkara remains," Ikharos answered instantly.

Xiān bobbed up and down, her own version of a nod. "Fine. Dangerous, though."

"Likely the reason they fell. One, under the control of a Wish-Dragon, turned on his fellows and ended their reign. Which then resulted in this empire."

"How would they even kill the dragons?"

That stumped him. "I don't know. Perhaps weaponry from the _Exodus Prime_ , which has since been lost to time. Or maybe they were already dead."

"How?"

"Warmind. Ahamkara can't affect them. They have no desire, only directives."

"And the human colonists would have been perfect prey... you might be onto something."

Ikharos agreed. Finally, something made some sense. It was far from a full picture, but it was definite progress. He returned to camp feeling the weight on his shoulders lessen.

He didn't imagine they would stay long. He was willing to resume the hunt, if only so he could continue his investigations afterwards.

* * *

They said their goodbyes to those they befriended amongst the Traders and carried onwards. Their heading was eastwards, circumventing the massive bay and towards the Ceunon region. It, like Kuasta, was isolated from the empire - though only by distance in this case. A perfect place to replicate the slaughter in the south.

The wilderness once more tested their fortitude and patience. Tellesa and Edmont silently took on the challenge, though Ikharos suspected it would be the last attempt. They were growing weary. They hadn't had much time to grieve, and for a while the thoughts of vengeance had distracted them from it, but even he was beginning to think their efforts were in vain. They had traveled for almost half a year without any sign of their quarry, and it weighed on them.

Then, he found it. A trace of Darkness, a few days of traveling away from Carvahall. Like a bloodhound, the Lightbearer honed in on it with renewed determination.

* * *

The Imperials had a sizable force. No horde meant to raze entire cities to the ground, but enough troops to prove an irksome distraction. More than enough to replay Kuasta's events. Ikharos could destroy them with a well-placed Nova Bomb, but he'd need all his power to take on the Shade.

From atop the valley, looking down on their quarry at last, the three whispered among themselves.

"Imperials!" Tellesa hissed. "They're with the Shade! That's why he ran into the heart of the Empire! _Bastards_!"

"Yellow-bellied cravens, sending that monster to kill us," Edmont said darkly. "I'll kill them..."

"It explains a lot. Why it even destroyed Kuasta in the first place." Ikharos inspected the convoy. There were a number of carts and a lot of soldiers. Better equipped than Urgals, better military structure. They'd be an even larger pain to deal with. They were bringing some sort of cargo south. The Shade led the way atop a black horse draped in chainmail, clearly unafraid of anything that might pop up. Its arrogance would be its downfall, he vowed. He wouldn't let this minion of the dark escape him any longer.

"It still has your sword," Xiān noted, floating beside him. The Imperials and their monstrous leader were still some miles away, far down the forested valley, following a wide road that saw some traffic. "But I don't see it on him."

"Dammit. I wanted that back. Think he handed it up to someone else?"

"How do we get to him?" Tellesa demanded. "There's too many!"

Ikharos unslung his Zen Meteor and laid prone on the ground, directing the sights along the convoy and then to the cranium of the red-haired Shade. "I have a way around that."

"But... don't mages have wards?"

"Unless he has a Major-class shield generator, we won't have a problem."

"It's just that easy?"

"Yes," Ikharos paused. "Tell me when. I'll have a clear shot for a while yet."

"I... really, just like this?" Her anger hadn't disappeared entirely, but the lack of any danger or difficulty seemed to surprise her.

"Yes."

"Then... go ahead!"

Ikharos fired. The rifle utilized electroencephalography to draw energy from his mind and converted it into concussive ammunition. Every theory, every idea, every thought he mulled over powered the force contained within the bullet. It ripped out of the barrel with a fearsome roar and hit the Shade directly in the head. It had incredible reflexes, noticing the sound mere tens of milliseconds after it reached it, and it began to turn its head just when the bullet impacted its skull. The bullet then released its energy in a burst of Solar, exploding beautifully. The horse, now utterly terrified, bucked and threw off what remained of the Shade. The remaining flesh melted away into a dark mist. It was much the same with Hive, when they were dealt a similar lethally precise blow, their corpses burning away in green flames. Didn't need to turn the sight on the soldiers to know what was happening. He could already imagine their panic.

"The Shade is dead."

Tellesa and Edmont looked at him in utter disbelief. Then the former laughed hysterically, turned around, and began walking back to camp. The sailor numbly followed her.

Ikharos had to admit, it felt like a very lackluster end to this adventure. The Shade had no defense against firearms, just like everything else in this world. For such a high level threat, it was very underwhelming. He glanced back down the valley with a frown. If that was the best that this world could offer, then cleaning it up would be a simple procedure.

He unequipped his sniper rifle and strolled off.

* * *

Tellesa paced. Edmont brooded. Ikharos skinned and sliced potatoes. He felt like potato wedges would go well with the rabbit they caught earlier.

Tellesa stopped. "That's it?" She cried out. "Just... that?!"

The Warlock shrugged. "Most of my time is spent trying to draw out a target to make the shot. It's much easier here."

"All it took was to shoot one weapon?! That was a Shade."

"Not anymore. Now it's dead."

"I don't... I can't..."

"Sit down and breathe." That was his third potato. He didn't like this. He missed his rations. Ingredients didn't need so much preparation. Every time he cut vegetables he risked slicing off a finger. He had no idea how Hunter's wielded their blades with such ease. He could kill with it, but prepare dinner? That was dangerous.

"I..." She practically collapsed. Her voice had quietened to a sad whisper. "It's over."

"It is. I know it's sudden, but I think that might be better. Fighting an army and a Shade can be... difficult." His voice softened. "Our purpose is fulfilled. Vengeance is met."

"Oh, Kuirst..." Tears streamed from her eyes. Tellesa hugged herself. "I lost... no." She looked up. "No! It's not over! The Imperials, they were friends with that fucking monster!"

"Yes, they are and I- _OWW, PSEKISKA KAR RI!_ " Ikharos snarled. The blade had sunk right to the bone. Xiān was there in an instant, throwing a wave of light over the profusely bleeding thumb joint. It was mended within moments. The Warlock grabbed a flask of water and washed the blood away. " _Kar tu mir!_ "

"Oh no!" His Ghost called out. "He's speaking the demon language!"

Ikharos glared at her. No one picked at his choice of words after that

After some time, when the food was cooking over the fire, he sat back and turned his attention to his quiet companions. Tellesa met his gaze.

"What now?" She asked, her voice subdued.

Ikharos tilted his head. "Was the storyteller in Carvahall truthful? Vroenguard was the home of those... Dragon Riders, yes?"

"Aye," Edmont nodded. "'Tis. Why?"

"It will be my next destination."

Both rebels looked to him in surprise.

"But..." Tellesa fumbled for the words. "What about the empire?!"

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "What about it? It lost its Shade. The rest of it can wait some time yet."

"But... everything we fought for! You'll just toss it aside?!"

"No. The empire requires dismantling, I agree, but it isn't my immediate concern. Ahamkara - alive or dead - pose a larger threat. I don't know how those old stories began, but dragons are vile creatures never to be trusted. I need to ensure they can't do anything to harm anyone. And, if I'm lucky, Vroenguard might have the archives I'm looking for. If the Riders were so powerful, they must have accumulated quite a collection of books."

Neither of the humans responded with anything other than shock. Edmont looked so crestfallen it broke his heart. Tellesa stormed off, her expression dark with fury.

Ikharos cursed under his breath. He could have phrased that better.

* * *

He liked them enough that it would have felt wrong to up and leave them. He didn't want to leave them to die. They were both good people who had suffered enough. But his mission still stood, and that was most important of all. He knew the realities of what threatened both their world and his own.

"I'm leaving." He told them. "I'm going to find a way to Vroenguard and resume my purpose here."

"You'll just leave the empire to murder and enslave?" Tellesa asked him in a dangerously quiet tone.

Ikharos hardened his gaze. "I'm trying to protect your entire world, but I can't without understanding the past. If the Hive find this place, it will be a far worse fate for all." He sighed. "But I don't want to leave either of you to the empire's hands. Come with me."

"We fight the empire," Edmont told him. "That is all the reason we have left. Their Varden is our fate."

"Then..." Ikharos trailed off. "I see. You'll want to see Jeod in that case, correct?"

The sailor nodded slowly.

The Warlock looked away. "Then we can continue onwards, up to the coast. I... I am sorry, you know. I understand your struggle. I sympathize with it, I really do, but my duties take me elsewhere."

Neither replied. It was as if a rift had been put between them. He didn't imagine it would remove itself anytime soon.

* * *

They were unhurried in their trek towards the western coast. They passed through the Palancar Valley and Therinsford once more, but with the Traders having moved on, there wasn't anything to stop for. They hiked through the massive pass that split the Spine in the north and continued onwards. At one point Ikharos recognized their surroundings and the landmarks. He knew Doramb was nearby. He hoped Rirmand and his people fared well.

"What will you do?" Tellesa asked all of a sudden.

The Warlock glanced at her nervously. She hadn't spoken to him directly in some time, and he didn't want to ruin this. "What do you mean?"

She waved towards the glittering sea that now loomed in the distance. "Vroenguard is an island. There's a stretch of ocean between."

"I might hire a ship at Narda."

She shook her head. "No one sails to Vroenguard. It's too dangerous."

"Then I'll sail the ship myself."

"Do you hear yourself?"

"Yes," he told her. "I do. Know that there isn't anything I wouldn't do to save humanity. I can't afford to be gentle or law-abiding, not with the Hive breathing down our necks. You don't quite understand how terrible they are. The Hive will spare no one in their quest to slaughter every living thing in existence."

"Your enemies are not here. Ours are," Tellesa argued.

"The moment the Hive arrive, it's over. I can't fight them all off. You have no idea how fortunate you are that your home is hidden from them. I need to ensure there are proper defenses in place. I will not be swayed on this matter."

"What would the home of the Riders even have to offer?"

"Knowledge. And that is power."

* * *

Narda hadn't changed in the slightest. The only difference was that the markets were notably less busy. There was less produce to sell in the dead of winter.

Little had changed in his band either. Edmont and Tellesa still opposed his plan. They wanted to find a way to rejoin the Varden, but they wanted him to fight too. He didn't oppose fighting the empire, only that he didn't consider it the biggest threat. He had made his own stance very clear, though they wouldn't accept it. They were at an impasse and here was where it would end.

Ikharos slammed down two bags of golden coins and a box of ammunition on the table. "This should help you along to Teirm and farther, if you wish."

Other patrons in the tavern glanced at them occasionally. The large sum hadn't gone unnoticed.

Tellesa scowled. "That's it? After everything we've done, you're just going to send us away?"

"You're sending yourself away," Ikharos snapped, his patience having run out. "I have my plan and you have yours. That is all it is." He stepped away. "Goodbye."

* * *

Ships were costly, but Ikharos was willing to give up every last crown he had. He almost did, for a well-crafted byrding, its nose as sharp as a knife. The owner, a richly dressed merchant, blinked and accepted the riches with some surprise. The ship was newly built and in good condition. It was small enough that he could feasibly sail it on his own. The only problem with that was he never sailed before. All he had to go on was the actions of others when he was on a ship sailing to Teirm and when Edmont seized an Imperial vessel. If worst came to worst and he messed up, Xiān would know what to do.

But before he set off from the coast, his former companions paid him a final visit. Ikharos prepared for another argument, but he was unprepared for the bone crushing embrace.

"I'm sorry," Tellesa whispered. "I know you have your own war... But please, when you are finished, help us."

"I will." The Warlock returned the sentiment.

"I know you don't mean to come across as callous. You bear a heavy burden, Ikharos. I hope you succeed in you endeavors."

"I promise to, for all our sakes."

As soon as Tellesa stepped back, Edmont dragged the Risen into a bearhug. "Ye fecker."

Ikharos chuckled. "Noted."

"We'll miss ye."

"And I you. Be safe, both of you."

Edmont held him at arm's length and looked past to the Warlock's sea-faring vessel. "Use oars to get out, then sails. Yer magic will do wonders in the open."

"I gathered as much. Thank you."

"Avoid storms if ye can. Hit dangerous waves head on. The ship will cut right through it."

Ikharos smiled. "I will do all of that. As for you, don't pick fights or draw unwanted attention. Lay low. Tellesa, that Tigerspite is yours to do with as you please. I know you'll use it responsibly, but don't flaunt it before the Imperials."

"Alright..." She bowed her head. "Thank you. For helping us. From the start you made every effort to assist us in our struggles."

"I'm a Guardian. It is my duty." He retreated back to the byrding, untied the ropes mooring it, and pushed off. He waved to his friends and, oar in hand, directed the ship out of the small bay.

* * *

Sailing was difficult work, yet he found it enjoyable. Even now, with the waves rocking his small ship and the wind pulling at the sails, he couldn't help but feel alive.

He had disobeyed one of Edmont's warnings and headed straight into a storm. Not that there was any avoiding it. It was massive, too powerful for his Light to do anything other than preserve his craft from the worst punishments. Rain pelted him as he worked to save the sails, he almost lost his balance on numerous occasions, and he feared lightning striking the mast. He worked diligently, despite the harsh treatment, and kept the ship in one piece.

* * *

Days later and he didn't know if he was making any progress. Xiān told him they were on the right track. He didn't have time to look at her holographic map to check for himself. For all he knew, he could be floating down to Teirm. Every minute was spent bucketing out water, moving the rudder to face the next incoming wave, or keeping up a weak Arc shield around the vessel to ward away the worst of the elements.

He was in the eye of the storm now, and it was angry. He swore it must have been a typhoon. It was only his Light that allowed him to survive thus far. And he continued to do so, throwing everything he had into keeping them afloat.

* * *

A week later and he finally had an opportunity to rest. His joints ached and his muscles burned with exhaustion as he laid on the hard wooden floorboards. The storm had passed on, at last. The ocean's surface was left calm and still, the sunlight shimmering on the surface, making it seem like paradise in comparison.

"We're close," his Ghost told him. "The winds were in our favour."

Were they? They nearly killed him multiple times.

"We should reach land in about four more..." Xiān paused. "Uh, Ikharos?"

"What?"

"Uh... something's moving out there."

Ikharos groaned and forced himself upright. "Where?"

His Ghost nodded towards their portside. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Just a few ripples that didn't seem entirely natural. He stared at it suspiciously and cautiously reached for a weapon.

"Shark?" Xiān asked quietly.

"Sharks don't make air bubbles," the Warlock reminded her, his own voice equally hushed.

"Oh. Whale?"

"Maybe."

"I hope so. Remember that big blue near the Canaries? That was cool. Funny how something so big can be so quiet. Scared the shit out of Eris. I've never seen her so panicked."

He did remember. It had been a long time ago, in that perfect age when the only thing to fear were the Devils outside the walls. Before the Moon, and its Prince, ruined it all. "That was the day you conveniently forgot to inform us of decompression sickness."

The Ghost winced. It had been unpleasant for all involved. "Yeah, sorry about-"

The ship lurched as something hit it. Ikharos was nearly thrown off by the force of it, though he managed to grab hold of a rowing bench. His eyes darted around for the threat, but he didn't see anything. In any case, he held his Lumina close. "Xiān? Out of sight."

She didn't argue.

He crawled over to the edge and looked down. The beast nearly took his head off.

Something sizable launched itself from the water and lunged for him. Ikharos backpedaled and barely escaped the fangs filling the massive maw. Instead, those ivories sunk into the wood of the byrding and tore a hole in the side. The planks were sheared away with such ease, the creature didn't seem to care. As it tried to move towards the Warlock, he caught a good look at it. Whatever it was, it had a long angular head with a massive maw reminiscent of a crocodile, with bone crests sprouting large tendrils above its brow. It appeared large enough to bite him in half.

Ikharos lifted his Lumina and was about to fire when his whole world turned upside down. The creature was pulled away with a high-pitched squeal by something much larger. The bigger sea monster had struck with such force it capsized the ship, turning it on its side and tossing the Warlock overboard. The water was beyond cold, and as he surfaced, Ikharos panted rapidly. The icy shock had struck the breath from his lungs.

He looked up in time to see the bigger creature slam back into the water and disappear below. He swam as fast as he could to the upturned vessel and clambered onto the wooden hull. He still, miraculously, had his cannon in hand. This time he watched for anything, even bubbles, but all was well for a few minutes.

The sea monster surfaced once more, much farther out, leaping from the water as a whale would. Another, only marginally smaller than it, copied the dance. Then, after gravity pulled them back down, they held their long necks above the water and tore the squealing prey item between them. With a shock Ikharos realized they were all the same species, even the one they were eating. Their bodies were long, half of it a powerful paddle-like tail ending in flukes, and from the torso sprouted oar-like limbs. They moved too actively to be cold-blooded reptiles, yet their skin and other features were very reptilian. He thought for a moment that they might be Ahamkara, as they were prone to cannibalism, but assuming the exact same form and the lack of any paracausal presence pulled him away from that assumption.

It was very obvious they weren't animals of Earth.

The largest of the two still living had flushed its tendrils a deep red and splayed them out. The other swam around it, appearing to inspect it, then dove below. The larger bellowed in irritation and hit the surface of the water with its limbs.

Ikharos deducted that it was likely a mating ritual. The male had attempted to impress the female and even made an offering - one that was coincidentally of a younger member of their species. Obviously, their own kind weren't off the menu. And the female was still not quite taken with him. He would need something else.

When that head turned towards the boat and those beady eyes settled on Ikharos, he figured he knew what form the next tribute would take.

"Shit," he swore. The sea monster was came right for him, closing the sizable distance within seconds. He opened fire with his cannon, hitting its armoured back and flanks, and did little more than thoroughly enraging the beast. It dived briefly, and struck up from beneath, that massive jaw closing down on the byrding with a snap. Ikharos Blinked out of the way and found himself tumbling down the beast's back. He reached out and by luck managed to grab one of the brow-tendrils. When the beast fell into the ocean, he hung on. He reckoned it couldn't bite him where he was, though it knew it too and decided on a different tactic.

It dove down, twenty or possibly thirty metres, then surged upwards, leaping once more. It angled itself so that the water slammed into Ikharos and hit him like concrete. He winced as his body was bashed horribly, taking out a majority of his energy shielding, and his grip on the tendril slipped. The sea monster scurried away, turned around, and swam right for him. Once again he Blinked out of the way. It tried that approach more, and he repeated his own tactic for the third time. Anywhere else he would have kept his calm and dealt with the problem in brutal efficiency, but here he was far out of his element. This was the domain of the predator before him. He had fought in all types of environments but never marine. He never had a reason to.

Frustrated with its inability to catch the Risen, the mind of the beast slammed into the Warlock, catching him by surprise. The maw nearly caught him as he fended off the mental attack. The intelligence of the beast was startling, but filled with rage, hunger, and instinct. It was determined to kill him. Its pride demanded it.

Ikharos' lungs burned. He Blinked up, over the next charge of those fearsome jaws, and broke the surface. He gathered the Void with him and turned his rise into a prolonged glide. His hands came together and began to carefully weave an inescapable reality, an orb of potent antimatter. When the beast jumped from the ocean after him, he tossed the Nova Bomb straight at it. It hit the sea monster directly, eliciting a wailing scream. He didn't have enough time to glide out of the way and the dying beast hit him with all the force of a Fallen Skiff.

* * *

When he managed the effort to open his eyes, he realized almost immediately he wasn't alone. Living things swam before him, shifting images on a blurry field. He couldn't see much through the daze he was left in after his tussle with the sea beast. His head was pounding, his side burned with agony, and he was spluttering sea water from lungs that screamed for air. He was left defenseless, completely. If he had the energy to talk, he'd order his Ghost to put him out of his misery and revive him.

But he didn't, which left him to the mercy of whatever sea-going fauna surrounded him now. His head dipped below the surface briefly; long enough to hear the clicking and chirping. That threw his addled mind for a spin.

Something gently pushed past him, under his arm, and started moving again. Whatever it was, it was different to the sea monster of before, with smooth skin and an upright dorsal fin.

Another moved by his other side and touched his injured side. Ikharos grunted, overcome by pain, and blacked out once more.

* * *

When he woke up, his head was pounding and the sunlight uncomfortably glared right down into his eyes. He felt stiff and his armour was worse for wear. The waves gently lapped his feet, a gentle lull that put him at ease for just a few moments. As his eyes adjusted, Ikharos forced himself into a sitting position and looked around. The pale sandy beach spread out forever on either side of him. Behind, rolling sand dunes topped with fields of marram grass and in front the crystal clear ocean.

Xiān floated down beside him. "You're finally alive."

"Did you-"

"No." She flew in close. "They, uh, saved your life and brought you here."

His eyes narrowed. "They?"

His Ghost didn't crack a joke or slide in a sarcastic jib. That alone was enough to warn him something was off. "Dolphins."

Ikharos' head snapped straight in the direction of the ocean. "Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Did they... speak?"

"I wasn't able to slow them down. They were dead set on bringing you here."

"Dolphins..." The Warlock tried the word. The wonder it could invoke was staggering. It was the thing of old Golden Age tales, the regrets that persisted to this day. Dolphins... It was a tale of kinship and cooperation, of faith in the innate goodness of humanity and the benevolence of the Traveler's patronage. The implications of them being here was incredible.

He didn't care how it kickstarted his headache, Ikharos leapt to his feet and waded out into the water. Nothing disturbed the surface. They were very much gone, but his longing remained. "Dolphins..."

"I know." His Ghost perched on his shoulder. "I can't believe it either. Edmont was telling the truth."

* * *

"Have you got a geiger counter?"

"No?" Ikharos paused his march across the beach.

"Well, I have one. Kinda. And it's not saying good things. We might had a bit of an issue."

"Psekisk," Ikharos cursed. "Armour, quick."

"We don't have much Glimmer left."

"This is worth it."

Xiān moved her fins in a shrug. "Suit yourself."

His Ghost flew before the damaged area - the side where the sea monster had ripped through his armour - and started filling it in with the programmable matter, which was converted into plasteel and hadronic fiber, replacing both damaged and absent parts. It was left as good as new, insulating him against the poison in the air. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"Damn. It might have something to do with the Exodus Prime."

"Maybe?"

Ikharos started walking. They had landed on the south-eastern headland. If he followed the coast north, he should find a bay and an easier path into the centre of the island. The mountain ranges looked like hell to cross, not as tall as the Spine but steeper. He couldn't imagine his current route would take more than a couple of days.

* * *

He'd walked all night and only on the second day did he find any sign of life. Brightly coloured crabs skittered across the sand, all of them headed in one direction. There had to be a few dozen of them. Above them, a single seabird screeched loudly, going the same way as the crabs. On a whim, Ikharos followed them.

Climbing over a sand dune, he soon discovered their destination. Slid up on the beast, most of its body out of the water, laid the sea monster from before. And it was quite dead. The Nova Bomb had burnt a crater into its powerful neck and shoulder, leaving a grievous wound that few would survive. Even if it had, the residual Void would have likely spelled its end. Washed up on the shore, he was able to see just how gigantic it was. A titanic leviathan of the deep, rising up to prey on the unfortunate souls who crossed the ocean.

Its chest cavity had been opened up in a rough display of surgery. A few organs had been removed and thrown aside, for the crabs to feast upon. Those who did the cutting stood by the opened ribcage. The sunlight reflected off the silver armour of one; the other wore black leather and cloth for a lighter garb. Neither had anything to insulate them against the radiation. Curious, Ikharos approached them, stepping over the ravenous crabs. They saw him earlier than he thought they would. He had been dead silent when they twirled around, weapons drawn.

The Warlock had just held up his hands to indicate his peaceful intentions when one of them surged forward, faster than any human should have been capable of, with a sword in hand. At the same time a psychic attack assailed his mind. Ikharos' good mood vanished instantly. He brought up his mental blocks and sidestepped the swordsman.

His attacker wasn't of the baseline humans that populated this world, but neither was he an Urgal. He was tall, with a slim body, pointed ears, and angled facial features, and from the way he moved he seemed very light. His speed was on par with that of the Shade - and Guardians - and that sent warning signals to the Warlock. The sword too was unusual, the blade a sleek scarlet resembling a crystallized flame. However, he didn't back down from the fight and grasped the offending arm. The neohuman gasped with surprise, just a soft intake of air, but it was a momentary distraction that Ikharos took advantage of. He quickly snapped the arm at the elbow and tried to shatter the neohuman's knee with a kick. His victim grunted but moved just enough that the Warlock's boot glanced off the leg.

The neohuman twisted his body to get out of Ikharos' grip, his free arm catching his longsword. The Warlock stayed close and adapted to every movement, keeping his foe from any chance of escape. He punched, hard, into the neohuman's side and felt something give way, be it armour or bone. Then the stranger muttered something he didn't quite catch, followed by an inexplicable force that threw him from his opponent. Ikharos hit the sand with a roll to his feet, drew his Lumina and fired. The neohuman had the added benefits of a quicker reaction time to adapt to his heightened speed, just like a Risen, and shifted. The bullet grazed his neck.

The other neohuman jumped into the fray and flanked the Warlock, while the wounded one kept his hands full. Even one handed, he was an incredible duelist, and both of them closed the distance too quickly for Ikharos to fire another shot. The Risen drew his knife, parried the scarlet blade and dodged from the second attacker's weapon. That sword, too, was similar to the first in that it was forged of an odd material. The saber's blade was the colour of oak, but there was no denying the makeup was metal as it whistled through the air. Ikharos was under no illusion that both blades could likely pierce his personal shields and armour with ease, just like the weapon of the Shade.

"You fool!" The second neohuman snarled. For some reason, the Warlock was under the impression that she was scolding her compatriot. "Always so quick to kill!"

"Shut it!" The male snarled, and pressed the attack on the Risen, his weapon moving faster than the human eye could follow. The short blade of the Hunter's knife let him down here, forcing him to move out of the way constantly. He tried shooting his cannon again, but the second neohuman was always there to keep him occupied. With a scowl, Ikharos summoned his Void to end the fight with brutal efficiency, feeling it coursing through his limbs, surrounding his body. His mind walked the nullscape and-

He almost yelped as one of his attackers managed a direct hit, cutting off his concentration. The scarlet blade pierced his abdomen with ease, shattering his shielding. Not to be outdone, Ikharos slammed a gauntleted fist into the face of his would-be killer, breaking his nose. He would have done worse if the second creature hadn't decapitated him.

* * *

"Psekisk!" The Warlock cursed, as he found his cannon absent upon revival. There was no sign of his killers either. At the very least he had his... "My knife too?!"

"Yup." Xiān looked about. Ikharos seethed. The cannon was one thing, but the knife made the issue personal.

They left faint tracks in the sand. With barely a glance for the gigantic sea beast - now being torn apart by a horde of hungry crabs - he set off after the strangers. If the radiation didn't kill the thieves, then he would.


	14. Answers II

_There was no sensation quite so unnerving as being unable to fight the willpower of another. Of being forcibly controlled. It was perverse and wrong. She felt as if she were buried alive, helpless to watch the atrocities committed around her, by her fellows, by her own hand. When that oppressive force lifted, they were each broken in their own way._

_Vroenguard laid in ruins. The fields of Ilirea were littered with the dead. The human kingdom fractured and buckled beneath the weight of the new conquerors and the elves retreated for fear of extinction, the same fate that had befallen the dragons. The old rule was flawed, but this scouring of weakness was too much. Restructuring was necessary, not a complete eradication. The order she envisioned was now even further from becoming reality._

_"A waste," Eltharos spat. His partner, a beast of olive green, growled in support. The fires still raged across the human capital. Hundreds were burning. Even without their oppressor to direct their every move, she knew none of them could intercede. It would be seen as weakness, one the others would capitalize on. They were her lot now. Backstabbers and murderers. She would fit right in._

* * *

Fear was not an emotion she was familiar with, especially fear for her own life. It was a subject of pride, one of the few positives she had left in her crumbling life to hang onto, but at that moment, she felt terror all too keenly.

For no matter how viciously they stabbed it, how powerful a spell they threw at it, the creature refused to die. It had tracked them for days now, and though they punished it harshly, it continued to relentlessly chase them.

It should have stayed dead! She cut off its _head_! And yet, that head appeared very much attached to the body as it tracked them down. It was no elf, of that she was certain, though it displayed many of the characteristics of one. It kept pace with them, never seemed to tire, held its own in a fight, and had a mind strong enough to withstand their telepathic onslaught.

The warrior, her name cursed in every land she walked, spared a seething glare for her ally - and she meant that in the loosest of terms. Enduriel was a fool and a brute, completely accustomed to the chaos they wreaked throughout the realm. He was what she should have stood against, the vilest there was to offer, but fate had brought them together to work towards a common purpose. And yet, he messed even that up.

"This is on you!" She yelled as they ran. The other elf bristled. She half-expected him to turn on her then and there. It fit who he was. "If you hadn't attacked, we could have-"

"How was I to know?!"

"It wasn't looking for a fight!"

"Bah!" The other elf ignored her. A collection of stone buildings overgrown with moss and shrubs stood ahead of them. Quietly, the pair slipped into one of the structures and hid from their pursuer. The irony was not lost on her. They had been the invincible force that hunted down the helpless dissenters and rebels. Now, it was their turn. Perhaps that was fate's plan. They would die just like all those they had killed. It was poetic. And, to her, it just wasn't _fair_. She had worked so diligently to break away from it all, to finally escape the prison she had found herself in and change things for the better, when this happened.

"It must be one of _his_!" Enduriel muttered. "Must be!"

She gripped her saber nervously. Everything about this monster was impossible. The dead stayed dead; that was the rule. Not even magic could change that. But this creature ignored that rule, as well as many others. The sheer power of its own spells was colossal, and it didn't even falter. She had good reason to believe it responsible for the demise of the Nïdhwal. She knew of no spell that caused such blatant destruction. If it truly was the king's puppet... then he had discovered their deception, their plot to kill him, and deemed them not worth the effort of keeping alive. And with such a powerful servant, she couldn't disagree.

"Why did you attack it?!" She hissed. Enduriel gritted his teeth.

"No loose ends!"

"Who would it tell?! We're on Vroenguard, if you didn't realize! There's no one here!"

"I didn't think it would be that powerful!" The other elf defended.

She hadn't either. Was it a result of Thuviel's dying spell? That frightened her. Though she had guarded herself against the poison with appropriate wards, the creatures it created were a different matter entirely. "Neither did I," she admitted quietly.

The air was filled with silence. Each elf held their breath. They had killed it thrice, twice with swords and once with magic, yet it chased them still. There was no stopping it. They couldn't make any headway with a telepathic battle either. Its mind was sturdier than the walls of Ilirea. That it didn't counterattack raised the thought that it was playing with them. That it enjoyed the hunt.

The walls behind them suddenly crumbled, as claws of violet energy reached into the stone and removed all integrity in the structure by touch alone. Carefully cut rock melted and flowed to the ground to form a dark purple glass. She couldn't understand the properties of the spell. What words did it even use?

The undead creature strolled in, fists balled at its side, and seemed to glare at them through its helmet.

Enduriel, armed with his own sword and the creature's knife, hesitated for a moment. Then, like the brave fool he was, he charged. This time she didn't assist him. His short-sightedness had plunged them into this mess, so she left him to fight his own battles. Let him fall against this strange monster, while she made her... No. She knew by now it would catch her. It possessed an uncanny ability to track them, even as they used spells to cover their tracks, their scents and even the noise they made. So, though she had proven time and again a warrior of prowess in the fiercest of battles, she chose not to face this nightmarish entity.

Enduriel did not last long. Their stamina had long since begun to run low as they fought and casted spells with increasing desperation, all of it for naught. Despite his fearsome weaponry, the creature was just as fast and far more ruthless. Its attacks were of deadly precision, hitting joints and organs again and again. The creature shattered one of the elf's shoulders with a palm strike, disabling the sword arm, and grasped the wrist holding the hand almost lazily. Keeping Enduriel's fingers around the handle of the unusual weapon, the stranger forced it closer and closer to the elf's own neck. She heard her companion's last panicked incantation and winced.

" _Deyja maru brisingr!_ "

The fires covered the stranger, yet failed to harm him, bouncing off a steadfast ward of some kind. The elf's strength slackened as the spell drained him, and the stranger used the opportunity to cut his neck with the incredibly sharp blade. Her mind open, searching for any give in the creature's defense, she felt Enduriel's consciousness fade away into nothing.

The blank helmet swiveled in her direction. Fear's cold fingers grasped her heart, but she resisted the urge to lift her sword. She couldn't truly kill this beast, whatever it was. It had proven that already. She put all her hope in the knowledge that it had not attacked first. She knew now there was no defeating it, but it might be reasoned with.

She cautiously put the foreign weapon she had picked up on the hard stone floor with the utmost care and stepped back. The stranger dropped Enduriel without any ceremony, snatched the knife and held it upside down. It wasn't a stance she was familiar with, but with a short blade she could see the benefits.

"I don't wish to fight," she said aloud.

The creature, whatever it was, growled in response. The voice was unnatural, changed by the helmet somehow. It echoed and possessed metallic lilt, somehow. She presumed it to be male, though she could not place what race it belonged to. "You just don't want to die."

"Yes," She admitted. "I don't want to die."

"You should have thought of that before."

"It was Enduriel who attacked."

"You joined him," the stranger shot back.

She held her head high, defiant in this at least. If she was to die, truly, then she wouldn't cower at the end. Her honour had been shattered long ago, but pride remained. "I needed him."

The stranger's head tilted, ever so slightly. A sign of curiosity. "You let him die."

"He was a fool."

"Did you need a fool?"

"I needed an ally. He proved himself a poor one."

"As did you."

"Are you going to kill me?"

The stranger strolled forward. For every step strode forward, she took one back. It stopped by the odd projectile weapon and scooped it up, inspected it for damage and, satisfied, pointed it at her. "It depends."

"On what?"

"If you answer my questions or not."

**000**

Torture was not a pleasant practice for either party it involved, but at times it was necessary. Yet Ikharos found the threat of pain was more potent than any inflicted agony. He rolled a vortex of Void in one hand and sat opposite his captive. She had no cuffs or binds to keep her from attacking, as they both knew it would do no good. For someone who never even knew of the existence of Risen, she caught on quickly.

"You're not dying," he noted. "Why?"

She stared at the brilliant orb of nothingness. "Do you mean the poison?"

Ikharos didn't say anything. She took it as a confirmation.

"I created wards to protect me."

The Warlock scoffed. "Mages. Why is it your kind always gets in my way?"

"I-"

"That's it? Just a ward? A quick spell and you're safe?"

"... It is."

It sounded useful. Though Braytech armour was still the superior option, in his opinion.

The neohuman was remarkably similar to the baseline human. Whatever genetic modification she undertook, it was minimal. The tips of her ears tapered into very noticeable points, and she moved with an effortless grace he had only ever attributed to the Awoken. That had him raise his guard. The Reef had become a second home to him for some time now, but he knew how dangerous their soldiers could be. Her dark hair was shoulder length and her features, like the male, were angled and fair. Her sword was on the floor between them. He had already looted the blade of the other creature.

* * *

_The blue-skinned woman seems as surprised as he is when they come face to face. She's armoured and holding a Scorch Cannon, but her eyes are young. He's already fifty years old. His hands are bloody and empty of anything but a kitchen knife, wearing little else than jeans, old boots, and a trench coat._

_"You're a killer," she says._

_He doesn't deny it. "His name was Nophros. He killed someone, so I killed him."_

_"Should I kill you?"_

_"If you want. I'll come back." He holds the knife ready, for all the good it would do when the Fallen weapon fires._

_She hesitates and puts the weapon away. "I'm Orin."_

_He doesn't give his own name. It's his an no one else's. He found it in a stolen wallet with a picture of him-that-isn't-him. He still has that picture of twenty-four year old Ikharos. Sometimes, on lonely nights, he wonders how the Ikharos from before lived. He wonders if that Ikharos was scared when he died. It must be scary to be mortal._

_"There's a mountain that way. There's a robot at the top. He's not bad. He won't kill you, if you don't cause trouble." He points to a peak hundreds of miles away. It's a long walk. He had a Pike, but Nophros broke it._

_"Okay," she says, and walks past him. They go their separate ways and don't meet again for another two centuries, in a Frame-cleaned saloon where friends are made and sorrows are planted._

* * *

He pointed to the sword that he swore must have grown on a tree. "What's that?"

The neohuman's answer was slow and cautious. "My sword."

"What is it made of?"

"Brightsteel. As all Rider swords are."

"Dragon Rider?" He asked suspiciously. He nudged the oaken blade with his boot. It's a sword, but made with human hands. It was, therefore, not Dark. Still, he carefully inspected it for the trace of an Ahamkara's touch. There was nothing. It was an object of paracausal nature of course, but nothing even close to the works of the Wish-Dragons he had witnessed on Venus and in the Dreaming City. "I don't think so."

He raised his head. She was trying to study him in vain. He wasn't of this world. There was nothing like him. "What were you doing with the ocean beast?"

"The Nïdhwal?" The neohuman closed her eyes. "I wanted its Eldunarí."

"Eldunarí?"

She didn't immediately answer. He stood and thumbed back the Lumina's hammer.

"Dragon souls," she said at length, glaring daggers at him. "Even dead, they are of value to me."

"Where is it?"

"I hid it as I ran." She admitted.

Ikharos motioned to the broken wall behind him. "Let's go get it."

* * *

For hours they marched, and every second he had his cannon trained on the back of her head. Neither spoke a word until they arrived at a lonely maple tree. He had hardly paid it any attention before, when he hunted his targets down. The neohuman dug up a crystal orb the size of his head, the same turquoise colour as the Nïdhwal's scales. The dying orange sunlight lit it up, giving it the faintest illusion of life, but he could feel the cold death of it. The Void had drained the life from this latest victim.

"Give it to me," he ordered, and held it in his free hand. It was somewhat heavy, smooth to the touch and undeniably beautiful.

The neohuman regarded it longingly. "When dragons perish, their internal heart-of-hearts will dissolve with them. Not the Nïdhwal. I wondered why. I thought, surely the dead stay dead." She glanced up at his helmet, which betrayed nothing of his true feelings. "Not you."

"Not me," Ikharos agreed. His mind, his presence, they searched every angle of the object before him for the sign of a shapeshifter, but like he had originally thought, it was no Ahamkara. He heard no whispers. "Why do you want this?"

"Even dead, it can store immense energy. Enough to cast a powerful spell."

"What spell did you have in mind?"

"Death."

"Ah," the Risen nodded. Wishing for death was perhaps the easiest one to put to a Wish-Dragon. They would keep their word and destroy the target, but devour the wisher too. "Whose death?"

She fixed him with a surprised expression. "Galbatorix, of course. You do not serve him?"

"I doubt the job pays well." He felt the surprised pulse of his Ghost. His jests were rare and far between. "Dragons lived here?"

"Those bonded to Riders did."

"Oh, bonded, were they?" He could practically smell the fantastical deception woven from desperate and ambitious wishes, feeding the dangerous ontopathic predators in plenty. "Were the dragons alive or dead?"

The neohuman sucked in a breath. "Alive, of course!"

"Hm... Where is the library?"

The change in topic did nothing to distract the neohuman from her evident uneasiness. "The city is... a few days beyond the small settlement if we travel on foot."

Her wording piqued his interest. "Is there any other form of travel?"

"No... no, not anymore."

He didn't bother asking for an explanation. "Good. Then we will make for the city immediately."

"Do you seek the library's stored knowledge?"

"There's not much other reason to visit a library, is there?"

"The archives were ransacked during the Dragon War. What Galbatorix didn't claim, he put the torch to."

"Psekisk." That was problematic. It cost time and a perfectly good ship to discover that this trip was for naught. "Surely something remains."

The neohuman shrugged. "Perhaps. I do not know."

"We're walking there regardless. Come on, let's go."

"What of the Eldunarí?"

"Mine," he said, and his Ghost transmatted it away. His prisoner gasped. He honestly didn't care to elaborate. Ikharos wasn't especially pleased with all he had learned so far, and his mood was severe as a result. "Move."

* * *

"What are you, anyhow?"

"I am an elf," his captive answered slowly as they walked.

He didn't question it. "What of your friend?"

"Enduriel was no friend of mine."

"You leapt to his aid readily enough."

"As I said before, he might have been useful. As it turned out, he was more of a liability."

"Yes," Ikharos confirmed. "He was. He's landed you in this mess."

Her smooth gait slowed. "So you plan to kill me?"

"I don't know. It depends on whether you will prove useful. Or a liability."

She didn't say anything for a very long time. It was in the dead of night when the silence was broken. Formora looked up and took in the sight of the flashing stars. "What..."

Ikharos didn't have to watch for long to decipher the faint light show. "A meteor shower. Anything else would be much brighter. Your warden is as diligent a protector as he is a captor."

* * *

"Dorú Areaba," the elf said softly, gazing into the bowl-shaped valley with an unreadable mixture of emotions.

The radiation was heaviest there. Ikharos double-checked that his armour was secure. He had been exposed to radiation, once, in the Manhattan Nuclear Zone, and never wished to repeat the incident.

Lamp lights flickered in between the ruins, as figures scurried through its streets. Not quite as abandoned as he thought. "Who are they?"

"I don't know. I've never been able to catch one."

Maybe he could. But that idea was pushed aside in favour of his original aim. "Where's the library?"

"Follow me."

* * *

The buildings were massive. The doors to each and every one of them was large enough for a Skiff to fly through. They were made of stone cut so well he couldn't find any fault whatsoever. It was as if they formed that way, rather than being built by mortal hands. Even overgrown, it was a stunning place. If only a WMD hadn't been detonated in the middle of it all.

Just like the elf promised, he couldn't find a single one of those distant figures. They had gone to ground like secretive rats, keeping out of sight of the outlanders. Other lifeforms, though, did not share that sentiment. The strange owls perched on roofs and tree branches watched the two curiously, their full forms barely visible even with his helmet's night vision. But it was the snails that were boldest.

Two of them, impossibly large, slithered towards the foreigners and left behind them a trail of slime. Their pace was slow for such large creatures, but he was under no illusion that they were harmless. They wouldn't be so aggressive otherwise.

The Warlock unleashed a handheld supernova and destroyed them both. The watching owls cried out and flew off. Formora gaped at the lazy display of power.

"Library?" Ikharos reminded her. His cannon no longer aimed towards her - as he felt the constant threat was unnecessary - but he still held it.

She took a step back and pointed down the unnecessarily large street. The stone pavement was cracked and broken by the combined effort of time and determined weeds. At the very end, a massive temple loomed, its roof collapsed and the doors smashed open. It was even worse on the inside. All that remained was scorched stone and piles of ash. All that had once been stored in the archives were long gone.

"This is disappointing," the Risen remarked. He turned to regard his captive. "I hope you can answer a few more questions, since you seem so knowledgeable on the matter of dragons."

"I will try," the elf said quietly, glowering.

Ikharos sat on a fallen pillar and leaned back leisurely. "This... Dragon War, it was fought between Galbatorix and the Dragon Riders, yes?"

"It was."

"Now, what did these dragons look like?"

The elf paused and watched his every movement carefully, as if he were a dangerous wild animal. "They had wings, four clawed limbs and powerful jaws. Bony spines lined their backs and many fangs filled their jaws. Their colouring varied from dragon to dragon, and size depended on age."

"The conventional dragon," Ikharos mused. "No. That can't be it."

"It is."

"Ahamkara rarely choose the same shape... unless they were answering the same wish. If so, it must have been one hell of a wish."

"I do not follow."

The Warlock didn't care. "What were the Dragons to the Riders?"

"Partners of soul and heart."

"A seductive fantasy. We are social creatures, are we not? We crave company. It is an instinct we cannot help. And Ahamkara, despite their solitary nature, place the importance of nourishment above all else. These Riders were subject to quite the illusion."

* * *

_"Look at them. Lovebirds." Pahanin drank deeply from his supply of whiskey. Kabr and Praedyth were nowhere close by to monitor their irresponsible Hunter._

_"I think it's sweet," Lennox scolded._

_The first Hunter held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'm not arguing. Just... she's very loud."_

_"No more than Shaxx," Ikharos grumbled. Both Titans, despite being at opposite ends of the bar, filled the air with their bellowing laughter. It fit the occasion, somehow. It was a pleasant little party. Not overly crowded, filled with people he either liked or could stand the presence of, and the selection of drinks allowed for those who preferred the finer tastes. The Warlock nursed his ancient pre-Golden Age wine and relaxed in the ambience of the saloon._

_For now, his attention was drawn to the forms of Wei Ning and Eriana-3. It didn't take a genius to recognize that the latter was utterly captivated._

_"Would you look at that..." Pahanin nodded towards the entrance. Two Awoken entered. Ikharos had met one of them before. "Damn, is it Crimson Days or something?"_

_Orin and Namqi Sen went straight to the bar. That was where the fun was to be found, not in the booths where Hunters and the most antisocial of Warlocks dwelled._

_"It won't last."_

_His compatriots glared at him._

_"You're a real bundle of joy," Pahanin quipped. "I bet you're real fun at parties... Oh, wait."_

_Lennox lightly smacked the other Hunter's arm. "Don't you rile him up."_

_"Might be an improvement. Pessimist is an understatement."_

_"Realist," Ikharos corrected. "He has one life. She has many."_

_Pahanin scoffed. "Whatever."_

_If there was to be an uncomfortable silence after that, they were saved from it by another pair of acquaintances._

_"You're looking glum." Jaren grabbed the wine and tipped it back._

_"When isn't he?" Eris' smile was contagious. She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of his hiding place. "Come on, stop skulking in the shadows."_

* * *

"An illusion?" The elf asked suspiciously.

"The illusion of camaraderie. All a ploy to get what they want. I've seen it time and time again. Esila and Azirim. Tallulah and the card player. Mara Sov and Riven. Ahamkara don't truly care for our welfare. All they want is to eat."

"No!" She shook her head almost violently. "They weren't like that!"

"I beg to differ."

"As do I!" She was oddly furious. "They were not beasts!"

"You don't know them."

"I do!" She shouted, then froze and doubled back. "I... did, once." Her voice dropped in volume as sorrow seemed to slip in. "They died alongside their Riders. Let the bones be proof enough."

Ikharos stood up. "Bones? Where?!"

She was reluctant to answer, but in the end there was little choice. Risen usually got what they wanted. "Outside the city."

* * *

The skeletons were unending, piled up high. There was no order to them. All the flesh and scales had been sloughed away, leaving the ivory remains to remind all of the creatures that used to roam this land.

Ikharos, fear coursing through his veins, waited for the overcrowding whispers, the demands, the claiming of his desires. It never arrived. The bones were dead. Silent. Their lives were over, forever.

"This isn't right..." He clambered down beside the most colossal skull and slid his hand across the weathered bone. "This isn't a dragon. None of them are. I don't understand…"

"His name was Belgabad," the elf whispered, voice choked with emotion. "He was the largest dragon we've ever known. He survived Du Fyrn Skulblaka, lived until the Dragon War, and... died in the final battle."

"Sounds like Venus," Ikharos muttered. No whispers. They always whispered before. Why weren't there any whispers? "How did it die?"

"Galbatorix killed him."

"How do you know that?"

"I knew this city and those who lived in it."

The Lumina was primed and ready to fire. Ikharos cursed his lax approach. He was underestimating the powers at work here. The Shade should have taught him otherwise. Long life, increased physical capabilities, and the capacity for the paracausal were not normal for anyone but Risen. So very little here made any sense. What the hell happened here? "What are you?"

The elf watched the hand cannon very carefully. "An elf, as I've told you."

"And you kill dragons?"

"... I have."

"How do you know so much about them?"

Here she remained silent. Ikharos lowered the barrel and shot, just once, at the ground. The cannon's furious roar echoed throughout the valley. The elf flinched.

"I can't tell you," she told him, defiant.

"You better, or you'll be joining Enduriel."

Her response was one of fearless determination. She valued her life, but her pride was just as treasured. Not a good combination. Pride was the downfall of many a Risen. Radegast never thought a Warmind could destroy his Order. The Sunbreakers never thought the Cabal could annihilate them, even with their Light stripped away. The Shade never thought another being could threaten him, traveling in broad daylight. It was a dangerous thing. "What are you, if you don't work for the king?"

"You're asking the questions now?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow she couldn't see. "It's none of your business."

"You're threatening to kill me," the elf retorted. "It is my business."

"Is there any reason why I should tell you?"

"Now you understand the position I am in."

"Oh, you have a reason to tell me. I'm pointing it right at you."

"You don't know what elves are, and I don't know what you are. We could both learn from one another." She stepped forward. His finger tightened on the trigger. "We may both benefit."

Ikharos frowned. "Let me remind you, this is a weapon I am holding. Whatever protection spells you've cast won't protect you from it. Are you seriously making demands of me?"

"I want knowledge. Power. The means to enact vengeance. You want information, which I might be able to give if you inform me of your intentions. Violence is unnecessary."

"I don't know, it seemed necessary with your friend."

The elf gave him a dirty look. "I've told you before, Enduriel was no friend."

"You didn't like him?"

"He was a sadistic oaf. His only redeeming quality was his prowess in combat," she paused. "Though you had little trouble dispatching him."

Ikharos shrugged. "Real combat needs foresight, and he certainly lacked that." He holstered his gun. "Fine, let's put aside the hostilities."

He crossed his arms. She blinked, glanced at the massive graveyard all around them, and shifted anxiously. The elf was evidently uncomfortable to be confronted with so much death.

"Have it your way." He led the way into the city. "Let's find shelter."

* * *

The fire was small and weak, with barely enough twigs to fuel it, but the light it threw around the interior of the cavernous house was more than enough. Ikharos was still, his eyes trained on the flames. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and soft, but the elf paid attention to every word.

"I hope you intend to speak first."

The elf scowled. "Not you?"

"I'm the one with the gun. More often than not, that means something." Amused, he raised his head. "I must admit, this has to be one of my strangest interrogations. Usually there's more insults."

"Do you want insults?"

"That was not a complaint. I'm more than happy to have a polite discussion. It's a breath of fresh air in an often distasteful practice." He leaned back. "Well?"

The elf took a shaky breath. "I am... Formora, of the Forsworn."

**000**

_By mind of Tlac, Specialist of the Soulrazer Legion. We head to another desolate star. Epirion fell within three Torobatlaan days. The machines have already begun the conversion. Worldbreakers have declared it a loss. We are still to accompany them. Zhonoch's victims go unnoticed among the numbers lost to the Vex._

_I can see the Hive warships. They arrive through grievous wounds in reality, passing us by as we move on to another star. We Psions joined in metaconcert to counteract whatever their witches may plan for our defeated fleet, for our minds are quick to parry their sharp wills, but they do not press the advantage. I think I can hear them laughing._

_Primus Da'aurc has ordered that we make for Calatonar. It is as uncivilized a star system as the last. Or maybe it doesn't even have life with minds. That would be a sad thing, wouldn't it? Eyes may see the beauty of a star, but only a mind can appreciate it. Sometimes I feel sorry for those other client species locked in as pieces in the grand industrial machine our empire has become. They cannot see the stars from where they are chained in the factories._

_My brothers have decided that we should become one soon. I can taste their thoughts with but the shallowest of concert. My memories are their memories and their memories are mine. We are three and one in thought already. When the time comes, we will be three and one in body as well. Not many can do this. A permanent metaconcert is a practice not seen since the God-Thoughts eradicated the Y-Goblet, save for a few rare cases in recent years, and for good reason. It scares the Cabal, for our minds will be unshackled and uncontrollable. I do not think we will be punished, though. We are Soulrazers. A greater mind allows for more effective inquisition. The Hive stench will never be able to hide from us._

**000**

"No ship? Ye serious?"

Jeod shrugged helplessly. "My last is lost to me. I had a loyal crew on it. I wish I knew how... but I could wager a guess."

"Imperials," Edmont growled. "They onto you?"

"I think so. My friend, I can house you for as long as you need, but I advise you both to move on soon. You risk your life being near me."

"Thank you for all you've done for us," Tellesa nodded. "But are you sure there isn't anything we can do to help?"

"No. I'm afraid my usefulness to our... mutual friends... may be coming to an end."


	15. Answers III

"How do you fare, Valdas-kel?"

The great Kell of Scar bared her teeth and hissed weakly. The insubordinate Baron, Krinok, the Ether-Thief, chuckled and bowed in a mocking fashion. He was no better than a Psion-rat, always lurking, always watching. Today, he sniffed blood in the waters, tickling his sick ambition.

Tarrhis flew forward, his active shock blades lighting up the dark chamber. "Know your place!" He snarled, closing his inner eyes and raising his weapons. The other Eliksni backed down, as per his ether-guzzler nature. Krinok was a liar, a coward, a deceiver, a cheat. No, he was the champion of cheats, the mob boss of this disloyal band! They came to plot, to jeer at their great Kell in her time of weakness, to feed their fantasies! Lying, worthless excuses for Eliksni... They brought shame on even the Dregs! Even the Wretches, who were not even granted a firearm for their dishonour!

"I know it, Tarrhis, the Faithful. Tarrhis, the Trusted. Tarrhis, the Devoted. I know my place." The other Baron gave one last smirk, flicked his cloak and marched away. His followers, sleazy hoodlums of equally twisted dispositions, followed him out. He only promoted those like him, those who brought harm to their House's legacy. Even his traitor of a brother, the twice-damned Kell-killer, had some integrity about him. Those thin-bloods, they were schemers, and that held no place in this House!

"Tarrhis..."

The second Baron, who still stood loyal yet, raced to the Kell's side and knelt. "My Kell..." He poured as much apology, as much support as he could into his quiet words. He stood under the banner of Scars and he was proud of it. Even after all the betrayals, all the losses, even as they had fallen from grace, he held firm to his belief in a structured, strong House. In a Kell.

Valdas was a terrible sight. Once she had been as large and powerful as her father, even at a young age, and when their previous Kell was brutally murdered - by one of their own, no less - she had taken up the post dutifully, with as much devotion to their people as her predecessor. Tarrhis would admit that he had his doubts, for she had been inexperienced, but the blood and ether of the Kells flowed within her veins. She had led them to continued survival on this frontier outside the vast star-spanning empire, had upheld their traditions, and earned his respect for her ferocity in battle. But now, she had been reduced to weakness, confined to her throne. Her body thinned and starved beneath her cloak despite their best efforts. The glow of her eyes was disturbingly faint, and when she reached out for his hand, her grip was weaker than a hatchling's. Her injury, an old wound, caused her no end of grief. The Hive knife had been small and little more than an irksome thorn to the Kell, but they discovered soon afterwards it had been cursed. The dreaded poison, a force they could not combat, ate away at their figurehead mercilessly. Only her inherent strength kept her alive, kept her breathing. It was the power of a Kell, he firmly believed. The truest among them were the strongest of their people, forever and always.

"My heirs?" She gasped, struck by another pang of poison-ache. Her joints cracked as she moved them, growing stiff with disuse.

"Still feeding," Tarrhis told her dutifully. He had seen to it himself that the guards posted were true loyalists, not Krinok's hungry hounds. It would have been better to keep them in the Kell's chambers, where the doors could be more easily secured, but this time of their life was critical to their future health. They needed concentrated ether from the Prime Servitor to keep them from sickness or fragility of chitin and bone, and thus were forced to remain in the feeding atrium. "They are vibrant."

"Good..." The Kell breathed in relief. "Their future is... yours to... guard..."

"My Kell?"

"The Archon... will have his own plans... As will Krinok... When I pass, they will strike... Do not trust... all... Only true Scars..."

"Palkra, Sundrass and Kiphoris." He named his loyal Captains, each of them handpicked for their trueness of spirit and bravery on the fields of war. "They can be trusted."

"Then trust, Tarrhis..." The great Kell forced herself up, visibly straining herself, sapping what energy she had left. The Baron moved to help, but she waved him away and stood on unsteady legs. "You will keep them alive, yes?"

"On mine-honour, Valdas-kel."

Valdas blinked her outer eyes, and stepped forwards, stumbling. Determined, she kept going, her will battling with the poison for control over her traitorous body. "One last victory..." She snarled. "I am Valdas-kel... My sire was... Morvaks-kel... I will not... wither away... without... fight..."

"What do you mean?" He leaned forward, still bowed. He was humble in the face of royalty deserving of its place.

"I will fight. Give me one last fight..."

Tarrhis rumbled, proud of his superior. Even to the last dying breath, she was a true Scar. "Yes, my Kell. I will inform the crew." The Baron raced forwards, past her, to the door, and confronted the shock spear-toting guards. "Inform the bridge that our Kell will lead a battle!"

The four Vandals cheered. One raised an upper arm, his eyes flickering nervously. "What is our prey?"

"The empire, of course!" Valdas bellowed, mustering her Dreg-strength, emerging from the throne room to stand tall, though the Baron could spot the signs of weariness.

Still, he approved. Scars never backed down from a good fight. "Fetch our Kell her battle-cloak and helm!"

**000**

Calatonar, like Epirion, was another system of desolate rocks only ever discovered and added to the map by the odd merchant vessel trying to find a quick shortcut across warp lanes. Those had been rampant in the days of Calus, before Gaul's necessary coup. The merchants no longer flew anywhere but the most secure routes, with the Hive creeping in at every seam. It wasn't out of the question that life might spring up in the few eons that passed, ignored by the Cabal's empire, as it had on the last world they occupied. Yet the moment they arrived they were being jammed by a force unrecognizable to all within the subfleet. It was a surprise, of course. Most of the powerful alien dynasties had been hammered away into clients and slaves of the Cabal, leaving just the pirates, the growing Hive menace, and what few primitives held stronghold systems of their own, besieged by the Imperial war machine.

Tlac was hard at work trying to decipher the blocks on their communications. Short-range, such as those between the warships and the carrier from which the frigates siphoned their fuel, persisted, but everything outside was cut off. Not even numerical data-bursts could pierce the digital blockade. It put the soldiers on edge. Jamming was often a pre-emptive method exercised before a brutal assault. They knew it because it was a favoured Cabal tactic. The code was far too complex for an infant civilization, yet the last report of this system - a thousand Torobatlaan years ago - indicated no form of life was present. Which led him to the next hypothesis, that this was a colony of a race far older than that, one that had recently set its foundations down on the edge of the empire.

Every attempt by the combined metaconcerts of the Psion Flayers to best the foreign presence was met with failure. It adapted to every tactic with startling speed and shocking efficiency. At the very least, they discovered they could trace it, all the way to the fifth orbiting planet. Primus Da'aurc called in the subfleet for a spread out formation to reduce casualties in the case that it was an attack, and advanced. They were well-equipped for conquering a single world with the numbers their fleet boasted, consisting of the flagship carrier and three warships with hundreds of Harvesters and three Imperial Land Tanks. Three hundred thousand soldiers stood at the ready to beat any resistance to a pulp.

The premise of their newest mission was simple; knock out the jamming equipment, conquer the resident sapients and relay the news back to command.

Of course the barbarians had to ruin those plans.

"They're at our flanks!" A Psion called out. Tlac glanced worriedly over to the holo-image of the ongoing battle. Eliksni Skiffs had used their cloaking generators to fly within the perfect Cabal formations unseen and then sow chaos with wild strafing attacks, often to devastating effect. Once, he had watched a battle-hardened warbeast find itself amongst a herd of domesticated mountain-grazers, each waiting patiently in turn for their preening from their owners. The aftermath had been bloody. He couldn't help but compare that to the scene unfolding before him. They were the mountain-grazers, the pirates were the warbeast.

"SMASH THEM!" The Primus bellowed. It was rumoured that his voice could travel all the way to the engineering compartment, several kilometres away. Tlac could easily believe it. His ears rang painfully. "BREAK THEM OPEN AND DRAIN THEIR MACHINE GODS!"

Harvesters had been deployed, moving in their delicately organized squadrons, hitting the Skiffs in brutal close-quarters confrontations. It seemed, for a moment, as if they would purge the barbarians from their ranks. Then the Ketch, having previously waited amongst a group of icy asteroids beyond their immediate notice, warped in and cut through the centre of the fleet like a hot combat-knife through civilian-grade steel. Arcfire cannons burst to life, exchanging fire with missile pods and microrockets-railcannons. The situation quickly became grave. Tlac could feel Orche's fear and Cadon's steely determination, even from across the ship. As much as they prided themselves on being the strongest empire to ever rule, the Eliksni were a hardy race, true survivors. There would be no quarter given in this skirmish.

"Sir, I do not foresee favourable results!" The same Psion from earlier cried out. Her mind was as clear as the diamond seas of Kerelti, enabling a brief use of clairvoyance. It was not an easy practice, and difficult on the soul. Tlac did not envy her. "They are prepared!"

"DAMMITALL!" The Primus slammed his meaty hand down on the console before him, shattering glass and denting metal. He didn't even notice the damage he caused.

"Lead them through an asteroid field!" A Valus advised. Smart. Cabal ships were hardier than Eliksni craft, at the expense of speed. And their Battlenet would enable them to bring the fleet back together afterwards without trouble, should their enemy survive.

"FIND ME ONE!"

"Nothing in range! Hostile world possesses numerous satellites!" A Flayer reported. "Active, dense, likely source of jammers!"

"WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE?!"

"Jammers may disable Ketch's shields, if the signal is strengthened!"

"THAT'S IT! BRING US CLOSER!" Da'aurc pointed to the helmsman, a Flayer with cables attached to his skull-implants, enabling communion with the massive vessel. The ship lurched as another barrage of Arc missiles hit them, but moments later they micro-warped to the intended planet. The Warships tried to follow, but the absence of the heavy flagship left them exposed. The Ketch paused to utterly shatter them, then chased after its prey with a swarm of Skiffs leading the charge.

The Flayer connected to the ship yelped as the satellites hacked away at his mind with clusters of viruses. The carrier's firewalls were hard pressed to keep them at bay. One even burst through the defenses, forcing three compartments to shut off life support and jettison everything outside. The vast metaconcert became that little bit less powerful, as two dozen of their brothers and sisters were snuffed out.

The Ketch was hit harder. It physically shook as the alien software targeted them with just as much prejudice.

"FIRE!" The Primus ordered. "RAM THEM!"

"But sir-"

"RAM THEM!"

The carrier - the Magnus Vae - burst forward with vicious intent, aimed for the vulnerable side of the sharp Eliksni vessel, and the Cabal aboard cheered. This was their retaliation against the barbarian scum.

Then the satellites below attacked in a new way. The helmsman screamed. The machines opened up drum-loaded weaponry that the metaconcert just could not analyze, and they were powerless to hold it off. The spikes launched and, with their own shields disabled, they hit the carrier. The Ketch too, but no one cared about that. Not when the spears pulsed power into the vessel and overcharged every system.

The lights burst for just a moment, each bulb like a miniature star, and went dark. Power failure in every compartment. Engineers were panicking, trying to switch on the auxiliary generators, but those were busted.

Zhonoch found Tlac and forced an oversized helmet on the Specialist's head. "Buckle up."

"You're enjoying this," the Specialist accused, while he was streaming telepathic orders to his brothers. They rushed to take shelter and don protective body armour.

The Vigilant chuckled. "Can't deny it. Hey, do you think these new people are going to eat us?"

Tlac shuddered. "I hope not."

"We're going to find out. If we survive the fall."

The fall. Yes. He could feel it, the gravities grasping at the ship, slowly feeling for a grip on the smooth hull. The metaconcert fractured under the confusion and terror as many began suffocating without air being filtered into their chambers. The others, those safe, focused on the fate ahead. There was no stopping it, but they formed together to at least mitigate the damage.

The Psion groaned for the sheer volume of the voices in his head. It always hurt, to have so many thoughts running through his mind at once. Natural species-wide telepathy could be seen as a boon of evolution, but there were times he considered it a curse.

**000**

Ikharos' fingers twitched over the Lumina's holsters. "Forsworn? As in, a faction of Dragon Rider? So you are a Dragon Rider?"

"I was."

"Not anymore?"

The elf set her jaw. "No."

"And... you want to kill Galbatorix?"

"I do."

"Hm... If I'm perfectly honest, that doesn't make much sense. Why even tell in the first place?"

Formora sighed. "I was never skilled with lying."

"And yet you can fake your own death. That's a step above lies."

"It took seventy years of planning and the right circumstances to make it convincing."

"That's a long time. Why not just leave? Walk away?"

She stared. "Galbatorix is too powerful. How haven't you realized that?" A pause. "Who... what are you?"

"My name is Ikharos. This isn't much of an interrogation anymore, is it?" Ikharos mused. "More of a bargain. I'll play along, but only if you keep to the truth. Any foul play, I won't be as lenient."

" _Eka thorta du ilumëo._ " She narrowed her gaze. "I've given my oath to utter only the truth. Will you?"

"I will." The Risen replied flippantly

"In the Ancient Language."

"Which Ancient Language?"

"You... don't know?" Her expression formed into one of incredulity. "You cannot wield magic?"

"Probably not as you know it."

"But that is... your wards protect you against magic and yet they were not formed with the Ancient Language?"

"Care to elaborate?"

"The Ancient Language," the elf said slowly, "is the language of magic. It causes the world to simply conform to the incantation, if there is energy to fuel the spell. Oaths cannot be broken if sworn in it. One cannot lie when speaking it."

"I don't know about that... Show me."

Formora closed her eyes, as if she found it a distasteful task that needed to be done. " _Eka eddyr aí älfa_. That translates as, I am an elf."

" _Eka eddyr aí_..." Ikharos frowned. " _Eka eddyr aí_... _eka eddyr aí_...What the Traveler-forsaken hell is this..?"

"The Ancient Language. Or gramarye, as it is properly known." The elf leaned forward. "I have promised to speak the truth. Will you?"

"Why not?" The Risen shrugged. He was internally picking at the words he had uttered earlier, and the unbreakable force keeping him from completing the statement. It threw him for a loop. "Give me the words."

" _Eka thorta du ilumëo_."

"Then... _eka thorta du ilumëo_." He didn't really mind this oath. If need be, he could just not talk at all. The magical language wasn't quite as foolproof as its creators likely intended.

"Now, what of your own abilities?"

"My..? Oh, the Light." Ikharos summoned the endless abyss and forced it into the material plane. Their small fire turned purple, and the air dropped several degrees. Formora's gasp turned to mist, and the ground around the fire began to freeze with a thin layer of ice. "Light is a power, sure, but that is a poor explanation. Light is... a form of paracausality through ideology. I've heard it referred to as Bomb Logic, but to understand that, one would need to know of the Sword Logic. Light is cooperation. Light is sharing, working together, gifts. It is kindness. It is the capacity to preserve life, good life, life that is innocent and vulnerable.  
"The opposite is Darkness, which demands domination, violence, conquest, thievery. All that is true... and yet not true. I am violent. I dominate. I conquer, I steal, I kill. And yet I am a champion of Light." He replaced the Void with Solar, and the fire turned back to a comforting orange. "Light is, in short, the complexity and diversity of entities within the universe. It encourages new life, new patterns, that don't turn on each other or those of the past to survive. Light is the beginning of life. Darkness is the evolution of life. Without Light, there would be nothing of worth in this reality of ours. Without Darkness, we would, all of us, still be microscopic lifeforms sucking up carbon molecules in a primordial soup."

"It... is a religion?"

"No," Ikharos said firmly. "It is a science of paracausality. The original paracausality. Causality is the theory that every action in the material world has a cause. Paracausality works along these rules, but bends them, alters them. Your magic, for example. You can make fire, right?"

Formora nodded. She picked up a piece of kindling and said, " _Brisingr._ "

The stick went up in flames.

"Exactly my point. You've used up an energy source, correct?"

"My own."

"That is a rule of the universe. However, using up energy straight from a living biological entity to create fire should be impossible. There are other rules, smaller rules, which dictate that it cannot happen. Paracausality means we can skip over those smaller rules. There is a difference, though. Your training is harsh, one that poses immediate threat to your health. Mine does not. Mine extends it. The Light is used as a fuel for the powers I display, but Light is plentiful. It replenishes over time, granted that I remain in a place where there is Light. Places saturated in Darkness impede that. And there are creatures that use the Darkness for their own paracausality, though it is a twisted and dangerous practice. Your magic is... neutral, though it leans towards the Light. You make a sacrifice for your power, and self-sacrifice is an element of the Light."

"Is it... possible to learn how to wield Light?"

"No," Ikharos said firmly. "Light chooses its champions. That is why we are outnumbered by the Darkness. But we are powerful for it too, because the Light is not divided among many."

"Has this led to your immortality?"

"Physical immortality is easy, but it always comes at a cost. The Darkness has more focus on spiritual immortality, though it can... taint the soul. I wouldn't advise it. The Light and Darkness are not the only forms of paracausality, just the most powerful. They are only two of many. It can all be considered a bit, yes, magic. It is a difficult subject to explain, even worse to research, and I am not a specialist in that field. I'm a soldier. I use paracausal forces to fight my battles"

"And these other forces... are they like magic?"

"In some ways. Though less costly. Yours is a particularly punishing practice."

"Could you teach this?"

"I..." The Warlock paused. "Why should I?"

"So you can?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"I intend to kill the king. Is there any goal more noble than that?"

"Yes. Annihilating the Hive, destroying the Vex, eliminating Ahamkara." Ikharos crossed his arms. "From what I've heard, Galbatorix is someone who needs to die so that others can live in relative peace. I've known his like all my life. I've killed them in plenty. But I also know that the cost can be high. Are you willingly to stomp all over the mortals to kill your enemy?"

Formora's expression was cold. "They are not my foe. Their deaths are not what I seek. Beyond that, I cannot promise anything."

"Therein lies the problem."

* * *

_"Join us."_

_Ikharos glared past Felwinter, to the five Iron Lords standing with weapons readied at his door. "No."_

_"Stand aside," Saladin barked._

_The Exo didn't budge. "They're going to change the world."_

_"No, they aren't. People are still dying. The battles are killing them." The Warlord had his Khvostov aimed at Efrideet's head. She was the most dangerous. Too quick to keep alive. He could handle the rest, if he had time._

_"Please." Felwinter almost never got emotional. He still didn't. Despite it, Ikharos wanted to believe there was something in those words, something human, that could change his mind. If he didn't, he would likely die. They would take his Ghost. The fight would kill his people._

_"No."_

_"Leave him." A new voice. Shaxx. "He's not going to cause trouble."_

_Jolder shook her head. "Radegast won't like that. I don't."_

_"We don't get what we like." The horned warrior shot back. "Leave him. He isn't an enemy."_

_But Felwinter wasn't finished. "Lead your people to the City."_

_"That disease-ridden camp?" Ikharos scoffed. "They're safe here. I've worked for a hundred years to give them that."_

_The sleek Exo skull moved in a slow nod. "So be it. If we hear you've taken advantage of them, we'll be back."_

_"I'm sure you will."_

* * *

The Warlock continued. "I can't trust you."

"Give me back the Eldnunarí." The Forsworn demanded.

His Ghost dropped it in his open hand. He lifted it up and admired the lustrous gem-like quality. "It's... fascinating. But I doubt I'll find any use in it." He tossed it over. The elf caught it deftly and carefully put it on the floor beside her. "Care to answer a few more questions?"

"What will I gain out of it?"

"You'll get to go free. Tell me about the Grey Folk."

"They made the Ancient Language. Magic was unpredictable and unsafe before that. The spell they cast to chain magic to words drove them to extinction."

"Any cities? Where did they live?"

"No one knows. They only exist in legends."

More folktales. This was going spectacularly. "And you still think the dragons were… benevolent beasts?"

"No, though they are far from what you claim them to be.

"Psekisk..." The Warlock muttered. He wasn't finding out anything here. He stood and exhaled. "Freedom is yours. Good luck with killing the king."

Ikharos stepped outside the building and didn't look back.

* * *

"Nothing..." He was among the bones again. "Nothing makes any sense!"

He kicked aside a femur longer than his arm and vented his frustration in a wordless yell. Void flickered around him, coursing through his body, forming an aura over him. Then he stumbled back and collapsed, holding his head in his hands. "This awful place... What do I do?!"

Xiān landed on his knee and said nothing.

"There's dragons. There's... damn it, there's too much... We need to go back. We need to tell Ikhora or Petra or... someone! They'll know what to do!"

"Our ship is in pieces," the little Ghost reminded him. "And even if we could fly, the Warsats would shoot us down."

"We have to try something!"

"Sol is beyond our reach. It's just us. I think it will only ever be us."

"What... what do you mean?"

Xiān twitched her petals uncomfortably. "You were more than right when you called this place another Dark Age. It's ruled by Warlords. But they don't have what you do. You're the only one with Light. The only one with the power to come back from death."

"Yes," Ikharos snapped. "I'm well aware."

"Do I have to spell it out to you? If we continue to scour this planet for information on how life arrived here, we're only going to be disappointed. But, if we focus on the future, we can fix the problems another way."

"There are _dragons_ somewhere-"

"Yes, I know!" The Ghost rose up before him. "I know there are dragons! Just shut up!"

He fell silent.

Xiān huffed. "Finally. Forget the dragons. Forget looking for the past. Plan for the future. Ikharos, you are different. To other Risen, I mean. Maybe it was just circumstance or maybe you're just that kind of person, but you did good. In the old days. You helped people. You saved them. You protected them. Not many did the same. You are a good person, just... You're the guy who can make the tough calls. Make the right decisions in a bad scenario. You're the best person to have arrived here. You don't care what others say, you do what's right. Look, you won't get this often, believe you me, but I am proud of you. It hasn't been easy, but we've survived. We've saved humanity. Being here, you can do some good again."

"What about the Hive?"

"Nothing you can do will make a difference. Let the Warmind deal with them. They're good at that. In the meantime, you can save lives here and now, working on the ground. People are here. People are suffering."

"So are we. The Darkness almost killed us! It's here!"

"What do you want me to do about it?" It's not like we can ask... anyone..."

It hit them both simultaneously like a shared lightning bolt. Ghost and Guardian stared at one another, rose up, and raced to the sea.

**000**

The stranger had left the city. Formora now had another body to bury, another sword to add to her growing collection, and a mind full of questions. Formora imagined the power of deathlessness, the magic that required no energy to be sacrificed, and weapons that almost entirely nullified wards. One of those might be the key to killing the king, but... with the power of so many Eldunarí at his fingertips, the wards might stand strong. And the stranger didn't want to share.

She wouldn't last longer than a few seconds, let alone get close enough to the king. Galbatorix was too powerful. Yet she dared not give up. She owed it to her breoal. To Kialandí.

* * *

_"Stay with me!" She half-cried, half-order, as she tugged her brother from where he was impaled upon his own dragon's spine. The other elf briefly closed his eyes, shock and blood loss turning him lethargic. His partner, a purple dragon with clean shiny scales, whimpered and tried his best to stay still. Eventually, with the two dragons and one Rider pouring energy into the wounded man to keep from death's door, they saved him. They spent an entire day and a half healing the elf. Agaravel raved within their packs, a poor maddened thing they all felt sorry for._

_Galbatorix summoned them not long after, to continue his war. They had no choice, not when the king had their minds. Not when he addressed them with their truest of names._

* * *

The last of the Forsworn, cursed with solitude, made her way back to the hideaway she had formed within the wreckage of an old lookout tower. She knew it only because it had been her that had destroyed it, to mask the approach of the Forsworn. She added Enduriel's fiery blade to the sizable collection she had scavenged over her long, haunted life. The king hadn't claimed them all. The rest were hers.

Her medallion burned against her skin. Formora poured her strength into the enchantment. She couldn't know who was trying to scry her, no matter how much she desired to, but at the very least she could keep up the illusion. Let the world continue thinking her dead. It was her greatest advantage. It had become her life's purpose, this quest of vengeance, and she would give her all to see it through. A difficult path had been laid out ahead of her. Formora intended to walk it.

**000**

He marched all the way to the bottom of the southeastern headland, where the radiation was nonexistent, and waited until dawn for the sun to arrive. He would need light for this. He summoned Xiān, and the excited Ghost swapped his armour for a wetsuit. He slipped on a pair of flippers, strapped an oxygen tank to his back, and fitted a regulator to his lower face. When all was ready, he awkwardly waded into the water and put on his mask. It had been an age since he had partaken in a dive, but he enjoyed each and every one of them. Ikharos presumed it was a favourite pastime of his in a previous life.

* * *

_It was just the two of them, diving down into another world, to collect what remained of a nuclear submarine. It was supposed to be easy. Just a salvage dig._

_But the deep cast everything in beauty. And they were captivated. With the darkness, with the pressure, with each other. Even the initials on the sub's hull outclassed the greatest works of the Renaissance, for simply being there with them. N.A.E._

_Their Ghosts begged them to rise, long after they had picked what they could from the sunken military vessel. They only did so when their air ran out. They were lightheaded, giddily so, and laughed and sang and cheered. But when they reached the top, they screamed._

_Lennox shot them both to put them out of their misery._

* * *

The water was Atlantic-cold, but he acclimated himself to it well. The worst part would be the pressure, or fighting a current if he swam into a bad spot. It was his fortune that the ocean was crystal clear. Fifty metres out from the coast, the seabed fell away. Ikharos kicked off and submerged himself. The light stabbed straight down into the depths, but he could see no end in sight. The murky abyss carried downwards seemingly forever, obscuring whatever lay below. It was hauntingly beautiful. Beyond him was an open ocean, nothing but liquid, as empty as space. But here there were no stars to comfort him. He liked that. It felt risky. Like stepping out into another reality.

Ikharos swam casually, arms at his side, lazily moving his flippers. He adjusted the BCD to an appropriate level so he neither sank or floated upwards, and headed in what he assumed was a straight line.

This was as close to the nullscape as any place in the real material universe could be. A cold current from below caught him, pulling him farther out, sailing above thousands of metres of sheer nothing. When the coastline behind disappeared, he heard it. Their song. Echoing trills and blissful chirps.

 _By the Traveler... I can see them. They're splendid. Wonderful. Oh my..._ He could feel an almost constant stream of warmth from his Ghost. C _an you hear them? They're incredible!_

"Give me a translator," Ikharos mumbled within the regulator that encompassed the lower half of his face. His ears buzzed with static until, finally, he could understand it. Their language, so very inhuman. Even the Hive speech was closer to human languages than this, but that made it all the more incredible. It had taken the Golden Age decades to decipher the strange language, even with thousands of years prior to that having lived side by side with them.

" _current - cold - prey far - serpent gone - other flee - poison - no harm - killer - friend - safe - air._ "

Was this what the divers of the New Pacific Arcology heard? Those ambassador-researchers in the Indian Ocean? Ikharos couldn't imagine a finer profession in the Golden Age. Firsthand experience with another sapient civilization, enlightened and uplifted by the Traveler just as the alien machine had done for humanity. For countless species across the galaxy.

Ikharos balled the Void in his hand, held it out and gripped the waiting devastation close. The eerie glow permeated the waters for miles around. It drew them in. Within mere minutes, the dolphins were swimming around him, barely visible, keeping their distance. Their song increased with urgency.

"Hello!" Ikharos tried. To him it was muffled by his equipment and the water around him, yet the dolphins squeaked excitedly. They heard him loud and clear.

" _killer - friend - fins - no breathe? - odd - sound - old one? - machines tired - machines hurt - machines rest - get carer!_ "

" _get carer!_ "

" _CARER!_ "

" _go!_ " One of the fifteen shapes sped off, disappearing into the distant haze with startling speed.

The others closed in steadily, warily. One, the lone male, changed direction and charged straight for the Warlock. Ikharos thought that they would collide, but the male slowed and circled around. It was... surprisingly large. Twice as long as he was tall. It's skin was sleek and well-muscled. A small kick of its tail almost sent the Warlock careening, convincing him of the marine mammal's strength - on par or even greater than Cabal.

They were orphans of Earth, the both of them. Children of a distant world and relics of a dead age. Their differences were great, but in that moment, Ikharos felt a keen kinship to the beings before him, around him. One borne of land, the other of sea. His society was rich and diverse, testing limits and rushing development - and oh, how his people paid for it. The culture before him was slow and careful, uniform despite individuality, caring and content. They may have suffered during the Collapse, but here they flourished.

The male zipped around him like a torpedo for a few brief moments, then slowed and brought a dark eye to study the strange foreigner. " _friend? - old machine - mother know!_ "

"Yes, I'm a friend." He held off from trying to touch it. He didn't want to frighten them. He retracted the Void quickly. Ikharos grinned behind his mask. "What is this machine?"

" _old one - machine - killer - friend - speaks - knows song - knows mother - mother knows! - refuse logic - visitor now - MUST SING CARER!_ "

"What is carer?"

" _knows friend - knows old song - carer sing!_ "

He could hear the words, provided in monotone, and the heart-wrenching natural wonder of their whistling simultaneously. Their clicking and their shrieking. The rest, urged on by the brave male, circled closer. A mother and her child swam right above the Risen. The youngster, nervous, hid behind its parent and peeked out. Ikharos waved. The juvenile chirped and took cover once more.

They sang and Ikharos was content to just listen to the songs. His burning questions were tossed aside for the novelty of this first-contact. How long had it been since their peoples truly spoke to one another? Especially for their kind, locked away in a place where time did not match that of the rest of reality?

It could have been ten minutes or three hours, Ikharos could not tell, when more dolphins arrived. Those immediately around gave room, and the newcomers cried out in harsh controlled bursts. The loudest was a large specimen, an old male, and he swam above, below and around the human as he called out. Minutes later, the others fell silent to the demands of this elder. At first, it did not speak in a way his translator could pick up, but through a means that caught the Warlock off guard.

 _HE HAS A SENSORIUM!_ Xiān exclaimed delightfully. _WE'RE TALKING!_

After all he had seen on this medieval world, he never expected to find anyone with implants. Especially a dolphin. "You can talk?"

The elder whistled. " _We know friend song! We hoped for you! Come, killer-friend, come meet mother! Machine is old and silent, he hurts, but he swims strong. Mother consoles him. Mother teach us to teach! We tend to old machine, to children of machine, and keep him swimming strong. We keep promise. We swim strong. No current stop us! Come, quick, or hungry serpents will hear us!_ "

" _serpents - danger! - go - friend swim?_ "

* * *

Dolphins were quick, powerful creatures, but they were far more than brutes. They were sleek racers, playful children, and the most bizarre storytellers.

" _friend - wings - serpent killer - Fundor - kill serpent - roar - play - eat - swim storm - angry song - very fun!_ "

Ikharos laughed as they pulled him along. They had witnessed his handiwork, his penchant for destruction, but they didn't care about the danger. They crowded him until the elder burst out warnings, then tried again only a couple minutes later. They were as taken with him as he was them.

Others joined the pod along the way. More and more, brought in by the songs heard for miles around, until they led a pod of nearly fifty to wherever the elder had decided. Time was gone, irrelevant, because Ikharos couldn't bring himself to care. He could have spent years with them and never been bothered. Maybe he had. Maybe he'd traveled all around the world by now, a human among dolphins. If so, Xiān would be the greatest Ghost to ever exist, dutifully converting the oxygen and nitrogen around them into breathable air. Not that she ever wasn't. He was so happy he would admit that freely. His greatest friend, his greatest ally, and the best damned Ghost there ever was.

His happiness was quashed when their destination reared up from a submerged mountain. An undeniably manmade structure of steel and plastic, gripped in a pulsating fist of Siva. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the combined songs of three hundred cheerful dolphins.

* * *

The nanites were tame. This wasn't Rasputin's sickness. This was one of the security measures provided by the Tyrant's errant brother.

" _We tend to old machine!_ " The elder told him. Seven dolphins equipped with sensoriums swam in front of him. They made up a fraction of the maintenance crew. He could see the skills needed being taught to younger generations, passed on as a sacred duty, supported by hundreds, perhaps thousands of others in their tasks.

Ikharos asked his questions, but could never get a straight answer. The dolphins spoke in such a different manner that communication was slow and tricky. Still, they made their own intentions clear. They wanted him to meet 'Mother,' whatever that was.

"Is that the _Exodus Prime_?" He inquired. The structure shared similarities with the other _Exodus_ -class vessels, but there were stark differences. The scale, specifically. The ship made up half the mountain.

" _Mother waits for long time, she spoke with First Pod, told them to teach, find killer-friend!_ "

"Who is mother?"

" _She is mother who refuses! She-_ "

A wailing klaxon shrieked to life. The dolphins fell silent and turned to face the abandoned human craft. It must have slammed into the ocean upon arrival, the way it speared through the rock, and the damage would have been extensive. The holes had been patched in with Siva, but the Warlock wondered how many people had died before the repairs could be finished. And why did it crash? Those starships had safety mechanisms in case of a failed landing.

The Siva glowed brighter, a deep crimson remarkably like human blood. Ikharos felt as if something massive and more was gazing down upon him, measuring his worth, judging him. He stilled himself, though his rapidly beating heart was beyond his control. It sounded so damn loud, in the dead quiet waters. Then, abruptly, the presence left. And the Risen was left alive.

" _machine - swim strong - no current!_ "

" _Machine let you in!_ " The elder dolphin told him. Ikharos grasped the marine mammal's fin and it swam with him to the side of the derelict vessel. The vessel was even more colossal up close. A huge section, possibly a hanger for jumpships, was left open towards the ocean. The Warlock was brought inside. There was a pocket of clean breathable air above, and a stairwell led to the upper hanger. The elder surfaced, snorted through his blowhole, and swam back into the open ocean.

Ikharos quickly looked around. The hanger was in shambles, a mess of collapsed metal scaffolding and three broken jumpships. A part of him decided to see what he could salvage from them later, but first he had another mission. The dolphins wanted him to meet someone. He was hopeful that it might finally sate his curiosity and finish his investigation.

_Let's find Mother._

**000**

"FATHER!"

Alosk glanced up. "Ach, Rirmand, not across the field!"

The child sheepishly circled around the vegetable patch, but every movement was filled with an excited energy. "Father, I saw 'nother wizard-man!"

"Wizard-man!" The farmer looked around sharply. "There's no wizard 'ere. Not any more. Last wan ran off."

"Nah, father, 'e's a new one! He flew on a flying broom, like 'em witches, 'cept it was metal! It went _fwoooooom_!"

"Yes it did." A tall figure, draped in a ragged cloak and torn clothes all dark in colour, strode into view from thin air. He was hooded, but from where his eyes should have been, twin pink stars glared out at the farmer. A maw of magenta burned below, locked behind a metal jaw. Alosk was struck by fear; this was no man. The creature of nightmares placed a hand gently on the boy's shoulder "You're a bright young man, aren't you?"

Rirmand beamed, heedless of the danger that Alosk could feel so keenly. Even the Urgals, blasted monsters that they were, never felt so... so _evil_!

"Father, can I show 'im the warrior? Da thing da other wizard left me?"

Those terrible, terrible eyes seemed to search the farmer's soul. The demon held in its hand a weapon like that of the wizard from before, but this was forged in ugly black steel. "You must tell me of this... other wizard. I'm dying of curiosity."

* * *

"Pl-please no! PLEASE"

The cloaked Exo, his attention on the small figurine he picked up in the village, scoffed. "Weak."

He held in one hand a fistful of shadows and the plasteel toy in the other. He knelt before the farmer - who was leashed to a tree with cruel barbed chains - and pulled back his steel face into a sinister grin, perfectly clear in the growing indigo flames of Doramb's funeral pyre "Tell me about him."

"Wh-what?"

"The man from before. The wizard. I want to know _everything_ _._ "

His eyes and mouth spewed a deep pink light, contrasting against the basic silver of his head. He knelt before the huntsman - who was leashed to a tree with cruel barbed chains - and pulled back his metal jaw into a sinister grin. "Tell me."

"Wh-what?"

"Tell me about this... wizard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The dolphins are the result of a single vague, thought-inducing line in a fantastic Destiny lorebook called Last Days on Kraken Mare. And probably because I've read too much Sci-Fi last year that I wanted to touch a bit on the possibilities of the Golden Age


	16. Crash Landing I

_"Traitor!" Althron accused. His partner-of-heart roared furiously, though the noise was almost drowned out by the sounds of battle below. Formora did not answer. She could not, for shame and lack of control._

_The dragons clashed horribly, all biting and scratching, while the Rider's fended off each other's attempts to attack the wyverns. Her brown disengaged first, flinging herself away with a roll and then began a sharp ascent. Althron followed. They rose and rose until, finally, they reached the stormy clouds._

_This was their advantage. Her dragon's murkier scales proved advantageous, unaffected by the sunlight glaring on the other side. Althron's green stood out like a blinding beacon. Formora's partner dove back down, out of sight, and circled in a silent glide below their foe. Althron threw out his mind, but he only faced Galbatorix's strange wards, keeping him from finding the Forsworn Rider. With one final yell, the human directed his mount down._

_The brown dragon smashed into them, putting all her weight into the grapple. Althron's wards gave out and he was crushed in the collision. His dragon wailed in agony, exposing a throat for Formora to cut._

_One Dragon Rider pair taken care of, they plummeted down to rejoin their new order in taking Ilirea._

* * *

The Nïdhwal's Eldunarí had the same ethereal gleam of those belonging to dragons, though the lustrous glow within was lacking, showing its lack of life. An empty container, it would prove the perfect manner with which to bolster her power. Already, the former Rider was pouring an immense amount of strength into it. There was little time to waste and she would need every advantage when it was time to fight. She wondered, for a moment, if it could be applied to the paracausalities the stranger spoke of. The idea of other magics fascinated her. Even just a portion of the might the stranger, Ikharos, displayed would prove invaluable.

She needed allies. Formora knew that her mission would be impossible without assistance from others. The swords she had gathered would be useless without wielders, and no ordinary warrior would do. She would need to echo the tactics of the other Forsworn to defeat their master. Raising her own Black Hand would be an arduous process, but a necessary one. An order of assassins and magicians loyal to only her.

As she pondered the strategy of her quest, a tremendous roar echoed through the air. For a moment, the elf was struck by fear, for it was as loud (or even louder) than the largest of dragons. Grasping her sword and another blade - a simple grey - she ran outside. If it were Galbatorix, riding his monstrous black beast, then she would rather die fighting than be run down. She had tasted the fear of being the hunted so very recently; it was not something she wished to repeat.

There was no dragon. And though it came from the heavens, it was no storm either. No, it was as if the very sky were collapsing under its own weight.

**000**

It was a self-contained city devoid of life. Each personal cabin was large enough to house families, outfitted with the facilities necessary for modern living and luxuries far exceeding anything he had seen before. One room was situated in an aquarium, the glass wall-tanks filled with dead corals and ancient fish bones. Another had an earthen bed from which genetically enhanced flowers rapidly recovered after being stepped upon, creating cozy micro-meadow.

He didn't follow the signs, but the painted symbols that seemed newer than anything else. It reminded him of an ancient cave in France, where humans of a dangerous and lonely age drew the figures of animals with their fingers. Mammoths, rhinos, horses, deer and bears. But here, only a pair of animals were shown. Dolphin and shark. Scrawled across the walls, pointing him down certain hallways, up flights of stairs, through vast atriums and narrow corridors, until, finally, he arrived in a quaint room with wooden walls, a single SMILE pod situated at the far end. Other machines laid strewn throughout the chamber, though none of them were human. Even at a glance, he could tell they were very alien. The sleek rounded designs, an emphasis on twirls and spirals, cast in gold and platinum.

_This isn't normal. Something's wrong._

Ikharos removed his mask and strode forward, cannon in hand. He must have set off a pressure sensor, because turrets sprouted from the walls and aimed directly at him. The Warlock went stock still. They didn't fire, waiting for him to make the next action

The SMILE pod hissed as the millennia-old clasps opened up, allowing the cryogel mists to seep out. The pod swiveled open, allowing the Risen a good look at the odd mass of leathery flesh within. It... didn't make sense. It was just a wall of skin. Then it furled back as wings, like a moth emerging from its cocoon, and the three-eyed alien stumbled out, its teeth chattering uncontrollably - the common side effects of cryogenic sickness. It reached out with a triple-clawed hand and pointed - directly at him.

"Hive," Ikharos whispered. He stepped forward, ready to destroy it in a storm of Void, but that was a mistake. Next thing he knew a fusion charge ripped through his body.

* * *

The winged alien didn't seem surprised when his Ghost brought him back, yet it didn't press the advantage. It simply lurched over to an alien machine on shaking legs and fell against it, weakly pressing a button on its side to open the container. Hidden doors in the side of the room opened up to allow 55-30 series service Frames inside. Two quickly walked to the ancient Hive creature and gently supported it, while another two reached into the container, retrieving equipment that was a mix between Golden Age human engineering and clearly alien touches. An oxygen mask was placed to the face of the Hive and attached to a tank full of gas. The symbol for helium, He, was displayed on the side.

"I think I know who you are," Ikharos said suddenly. The creature glanced over to him, silent. "You're not one of theirs, are you?"

It stared.

"No," he decided. "The dolphins called you the mother-who-refuses. The Mother-Refusalist. Your name is Taox. I've read about you, from their Books. They hunted you across the stars."

It, she, still didn't utter a word, but he was certain she could understand.

"You tried to help their enemies, but... it didn't work out." Countless worlds left dead as a result. Too many lives lost to the Dark. "I do have some good news, though. Oryx is dead."

Those three eyes brightened.

"I killed him."

The creature stayed quiet. Then it laughed, a rough cough that betrayed her poor health. It didn't stop for quite some time.

"I have questions," Ikharos said, once the alien's grim mirth abated.

The creature waved to him; _ask them._

"Why are you here?"

It moved its claws to form a glyph. Their rune for Stolen Life. _Death._

"For vengeance? But... did you come here alone?"

It cracked its teeth together. _No._

Xiān gave a nervous giggle. "Good thing we have an alien expert here."

"Shut up," Ikharos ordered, though there wasn't any heat in his words. He barely paid the Ghost any notice. "Who came with you? The Grey Folk? Who were they?"

Taox paused, then pointed to one of the Frames waiting on standby. It turned about to face the Warlock and stood to attention.

"Date: June 2, 2765 CE.  
Subject: Contact with sapient extrasolar lifeforms.  
Directive 1: Begin peaceful interactions and identify means of communication with extrasolar lifeforms.  
Directive 2: Form diplomatic party consisting of crew ideal for Scenario: First Contact. Emissary Group One formed.  
Analysis 1: Extrasolar lifeforms communicate via spoken language, identical to methods of communication used by numerous species on Earth.  
Hypothesis: Convergent evolution.  
Analysis 2: Sapient extrasolar lifeforms named Qulantnirang - _translation: Harmony_ \- express anomalous properties. Dr Halleen, member of Captain Sihlova's Emissary Group One, has begun research into said anomalous properties with consent of extrasolar lifeforms. Research has been dubbed parascience.  
Hypothesis: Anomalous properties disobey fundamental laws of physics. Research in progress.  
Analysis 3: Extrasolar lifeforms undergoing Refugee Class 6 Event. Second extrasolar lifeforms bearing Threat Level: XK responsible.  
Hypothesis: Despite lack of previous communication, Second extrasolar lifeforms Airan - _translation: Hive_ \- opened hostilities with Qulantnirang immediately. Indicating ulterior purpose, likely idealistic. Requires further analysis.  
Dr Halleen summary: _It's a genocide. Our funny stories about mean little men in flying saucers wasn't so far from the truth. I'm reading the reports right now, and it's just... oh my god... they're killing everything! This isn't even about resources or colonies o-or anything else; this is a crusade! This is a fucking_ [REDACTED] _!_ "

Ikharos flinched. The terror in the voice was so very familiar.

The machine continued.  
" _They're hunting Moon X. The Traveler, whatever. This fleet is all that's left of the Harmony. And they got off lucky. They know about the Traveler. They had it too. It couldn't protect them. It won't protect us. Home, whether Kepler or Sol, isn't going to last. The crusaders have killed bigger beasties than us.  
SCIPIO's been acting up too. He's listening in. I think he's talking with the new kids. Is that a good thing? Warminds are smarter than us. And they care, right? It's got to be good. Maybe they're discussing tactics?  
Well, the Harmony have a plan. Translations must be wrong, or maybe it's a metaphor. They're saying we need to make... a wish?_"

The Frame's recording ended. The Warlock didn't need to hear anything else.

He said, very simply, "Oh, no."

* * *

He had to get out of there. Ikharos ran from the room, ran back the route he took down, followed the tails of sharks and dolphins. Xiān tried to talk to him, screamed in his ear, but he didn't hear any of it. The doors in front closed on him, likely the Warmind trying to block him off, but he tore through them with grenades and the hungry beyond. He kept going until the Light wouldn't form in his hands, when his breath stuck in his throat and his legs lost the will to continue. Ikharos collapsed, gasped for air, and sent a look of disbelief and hurt his Ghost's way.

"You cut me off..." He accused.

"I had to!"

"NO! We need to go, find a way out, get help! This is the next Venus!"

"Stop it, please!"

He struggled to his feet. Even though this was the third occasion he had lost his connection to the Light, he could never grow used to it. He felt so very weak, so very... human. "This is the Ahamkara's work! We can't let this-"

"Please, think about this!"

"I am thinking!" He barely made it four paces before another metal bulkhead slammed shut on him. And, as he pounded his fists against it, he found he couldn't break it.

"No, you're not! You're only thinking about Lennox!"

"DAMN YOU!" He roared, twirling around. "You know as well as I do that this needs to be stopped!"

"There's a purpose to it all, just wait and listen to-"

"I'm not playing along to their wishes!"

"We don't have a choice." Xiān said with such finality, he couldn't find the words to immediately respond. "We're losing the war. You know that as well as I do. We don't have enough Ghosts, and fewer Guardians. Only a few hundred left. The Hive are growing. The Cabal still have an empire's worth of soldiers. The Vex are everywhere. Fikrul can only be kept down for so long before he converts the entire Fallen species into his own personal Scorn army. We need another advantage or we will lose it all."

He couldn't deny it. He had been there for the worst of the losses. The Great Disaster and Red War sapped them of thousands of soldiers. Even before that, the Iron Lords conscripted or wiped out most of the remaining Warlords, then threw their entire order in a suicide mission against Rasputin's defense systems. Their numbers had never been lower. And they couldn't get those numbers back. There had only ever been a certain amount of Ghosts created, and that was that.

"Playing along with whatever Ahamkara scheme this is won't fix that," Ikharos retorted.

"Then what do you propose? Ikharos, they have a plan in motion. I, at least, want to figure out what it entails."

"No."

"Why are you so stubborn?" The Ghost angrily twisted her shell. "You've spent months trying to figure out what happened, but at the mention of Ahamkara involvement you duck out?"

"I'm not playing into their games."

The corridor flashed red. An intercom buzzed to life. "Bellum omnium calculo est. Si vis pacem para bellum."

Xiān perked up. "He's... speaking Latin. Give me a moment... _War is the reckoning of all. If you want peace, prepare for war._ "

" _Ego cudere gladium._ "

" _I will forge a sword_ _._ "

" _Alea iacta est._ "

" _The die is cast._ "

" _Per aspera ad astra._ "

" _Through hardship to the stars._ "

" _Victoriam meam._ "

" _My victory_ _._ "

**000**

Tarrhis' breath came in short and rapid. The air within the Ketch was thinning. The life support had been one of many casualties in the swift and brutal attack from below. Only rebreathers and Servitors filtering air allowed the Scars to continue scrambling around controls in the bridge. The Pilot Servitor was wailing, unable to regain control over the free-falling ship despite the added assistance of fifteen Splicers.

The Baron could not assist. He had not the mechanical prowess to make sense of the scrambled systems, and his Kell needed him. Valdas had almost collapsed when the Ketch entered the mesophere of the planetoid, and would have fallen had he not been there to hold her up. He hung on to the railing of the Kell's Perch as their vessel began to further accelerate. Then, in a stroke of luck, a pair of rear thrusters flickered to life.

"I cannot stall!" The lead Splicer called out. "Damage is too great!"

"Land us!" Tarrhis ordered. "Save what you can!"

"Tarr..." Valdas buckled and her eyes flickered. The Baron supported the Kell's entire weight. "My... heirs..."

"Utak, Raksil!" The two Vandals looked to their Baron and father. "The Scarlings!"

The duo raced off on all six limbs to the non functioning elevator shaft.

"Thank you... Tarrhis," Veldas whispered. "Go..."

"My Kell?"

"I can... smell them... their deceit..."

Motion. Thieves and murderers, watching the nobles with thinly veiled amusement. Krinok's minions.

"Leave... soon..." His Kell urged, her voice so faint he had to strain himself to catch the words. "Skiffs..."

Theft. She ordered him to commit what he so vehemently despised. His people, those not of his crews and their families, would hate him for it. And yet, had he any choice? Krinok had been testing his limits ever since Valdas had been confined to her throne, looking for a weakness. She was not long for the galaxy now, and when she was gone, he would do all he could to grasp the fallen banner and raise it for his term as Kell. A backstabber worthy of the Devils. "I will not leave your side, Valdas-kel."

"Go... fool... This is my... decree..." The Kell of Scars, in one last surge of strength, pulled herself to her feet and gasped with renewed pain. Tarrhis, his mind conflicted, hesitantly backed away a step. Valdas waved him on. One step became two, two became three, and then he was marching away.

As the door to the bridge closed behind him, he thought he could hear a chitin-crawling cackle.

* * *

While the Ketch had been disabled, the Skiffs still within its hanger bay were not nearly as affected. The Splicers had cut away the cables charging up the ships to avoid further complications with the troubled power generators and had them on standby. Though Tarrhis knew much of their machines were still out in the dead of space above, he had little idea what had befallen them. He doubted they lived. Whatever had disabled them would have little trouble with a number of Skiffs.

"My Baron!" Sundrass exclaimed. Kiphoris and Palkra were also present. The three Captains were tall and powerful - well fed on ether - and had brought their own crews. "Are we to flee, yes?"

"Of course not, elika!" Palkra scoffed. "We will-"

An explosion rocked the Ketch. It came from somewhere within. Tarrhis looked back and narrowed his four eyes.

"Sundrass is right," he told his lieutenants. "Krinok will fight like a rabid hound. He has already placed his loyal killers in places we cannot fight. We must grow beyond his influence, survive without the Prime. When the Kell is strong enough, we will challenge the Ether-Thief's rule. We cannot as we are, outnumbered and weakened."

"We will not fight?!" Palkra questioned, shocked. His lower arms crossed and uncrossed nervously. "But... my Baron..."

"Valdas-kel has ordered me to flee," Tarrhis announced bitterly. It hurt him, this dishonour, this cowardice. He would rather be left docked of all his arms and demoted to Dreg than this! "We must preserve her heirs. Perhaps we will return and campaign for their Kellhood, yes?"

Kiphoris, quiet and thoughtful, finally asked a question. "Where are the heirs?"

"Mine-sons are to bring them here to us." The Baron lifted his head as another great figure entered the hanger and stalked over in great long strides. The Archon of Scars, Skriviks, bore a murderous expression.

"Tarrhis, Terribly Honoured. Tarrhis, Duty Bound. You are leaving?" The Archon held out his arms. "I did not think you a deserter, dear Baron. Especially when your people need you."

"Mine-orders, great Archon."

"Ah, orders. Valdas is cold, Valdas is ruthless." The Archon seemed to sag as if he were attempting to hold up the entire Ketch. "Krinoks-kel will be worse, yes? I have not orders, Tarrhis, but I have a request."

"Make it, Skriviks of Elder Days."

There was a twinkle in the ancient Eliksni's eyes. "Elder, yes. But I must adapt to our now-life. I must change again." He held out a device as long as a Dreg's arm and half as wide. "Take this."

"What of Monoliks Prime?" Tarrhis asked, aghast. When Skriviks forced it into his hands, he could not bring himself to drop it, for it was the future of their House. A Prime's permissions. "What of our people?"

"We will not starve, unless Krinok attempts to hoard. Though," the Archon spat, "he is one to do that, yes? Ether-thief. You will bear this, Tarrhis. You will use it. You are greater than Krinok."

"I will not be Kell," the Baron argued firmly.

"Then who?" Skriviks asked, puzzled. "Once Valdas falls, if she has not already, there will be-"

"Father!" A familiar form raced into the hanger. His cloak was darkened with vermillion blood and one arm was held delicately against his chest. When no other followed the Vandal in, Tarrhis' hearts stopped.

"Raksil! Where is your brother?!"

"Gone, father!" The Vandal sobbed and snarled at once. "Krinok slew him!"

"ETHER-THIEF!" The Baron of Scar bellowed, and would have charged for bloody retribution had the Archon not restrained him. Though, as a senior noble of higher rank than most, he was allowed to grow further, Skriviks was larger still. The Archon was still hardpressed to keep him from his vengeance.

"Peace, Tarrhis, peace!" Skriviks yelled. "Do not die for this!"

"Mine-son!" Came his argument.

"Mourn him, avenge him, but do not die for nothing! You must be Kell!"

"I tell you once more, Archon, I will not be Kell!" Tarrhis struggled free and barely managed to stop himself from bolting. It did not help that his Captains had moved themselves in his way. He loved them as if they were his own kin, yet he could not express it at that moment. Not when one of his sons was dead and the Wretch responsible roamed free to cause further chaos.

"There is no other! Not Krinok, not Vasto, not Lokiis, you! None other may take up the banner!"

Then Raksil, ether-tears running from his eyes, unfurled his arm. Tarrhis had thought it broken, but the Vandal had merely been shielding the single tiny hatchling in his palm, chitin still forming. Its eyes, however, were unusually bright. A strong one. The only to survive the beginning slaughter. "There is one."

"An heir survives the purge!" Skriviks gasped. For a moment, he appeared as if he would snatch up the young Eliksni, then thought better of it. He spared a furious look for the Baron. "This is more dangerous, Tarrhis. This will take time."

"I will uphold my oaths," the Baron solemnly promised. He didn't say for them to hear that he also promised unending torment for his fellow Baron. He would ensure Krinoks would beg for the end to take him.

"I know you will." Skriviks sighed. "Then I name you Tarrhis, the Oathkeeper. Go, Baron of Scar, and save this child of Scar."

The Archon retreated without a second look. Tarrhis shivered. An Archon's naming should have been a joyous occasion with ceremony and cheer, but not this day. This day, he lost a son.

"Board the Skiffs!" He hoarsely shouted. The crews dutifully obeyed. The Splicers caring for the machines, who had been present for the entire exchange, hesitated. A handful joined those crews. A larger fraction moved away, only for them to return with valuable equipment to store on the Skiffs, including Glimmer Drills and Walkers. The Baron cursed himself. He hadn't thought of that.

Those left scrambled away, tossing fearful glances the way of the loyalists. Traitors, all of them. If time wasn't of the essence, he would have ordered them to be killed.

"I will..." Raksil, wracked by grief, was led towards a vessel by the Captain of his crew, Kiphoris. Palkra shrugged and rejoined his own crews.

Sundrass, ever outspoken, raised the immediate issue he should have been concentrating on, had he not dead kin to lament over. "What of those who crippled the Monoliks-Syn? Will they not attack?"

"I do not know."

The Captain clacked her fangs irritably. "I do not wish to brave those weapons of theirs again. They would rip us apart."

"You say we should land among them? At their mercy?"

"Until we know we can escape. We might get lucky." Her outer eyes narrowed with mild amusement. "The Cabal will be a great distraction, yes?"

**000**

The Kell grimaced and closed her inner eyes. She could smell the intent from her subordinate, the one approaching with rabid eagerness. "You... no-honour... rat..."

Krinok cackled madly, a bloodied sword already drawn and activated. "I am rat? I stand higher than Valdas-kel!" He raised his free arms up. "I am Krinok-kel! I am Kell of Scars!"

"Your kin... killed this House..." Valdas hissed brusquely. A single Ketch, their people divided, so many dead. All for one filthy Dreg's uprising. She should have strangled his remaining relative, should have crunched off his arms and slit his throat. But she hadn't, for fear it would lose her more of her people, diminish all that remained of her ancestor's banner. " _Psekiskar!_ "

"You killed it too," the Baron waved a free hand across the bridge. Three Wretches collapsed at the far end, their lungs empty of air and ether, clawing at their gasping throats. His tone changed suddenly, from amused to enraged. He was a maddened beast, one who would only ever kill and destroy, never build. Never strengthen a banner. "LOOK!" He roughly wrenched her head back by the horn of her helmet. "MY KETCH IS DYING!"

"My... Ketch..." She coughed. Oh, how she wished she still had the strength to gouge out his eyes with her claws.

"No. No, not anymore." The Baron raised his sword. "I am Kell, yes?"

**000**

The approach to winter's solstice should have been a time of celebration for the Kuastan people. Not so in Jeod's household. The merchant, though a good friend to them, was often out trying to salvage his dying business or in his study, stressing over his current circurmstances. His wife, Helen, was cold and suspicious towards the two rebels. Tellesa couldn't find it in herself to care.

The world had been bared open to her in all its ulginess. Life was brutal and reality was merciless. Monsters ruled the world, not heroes. She had been subjected to Imperial cruelty since a young age, but this year in particular had seen far more horror than she had imagined possible. Sometimes, she believed it a simple nightmare, one she would wake up from soon and tell Kuirst all about. It had taken some time to realize that hope was never going to fulfill itself. They were gone. Kuirst, Tainvay, Rendan, everyone. The entirety of Kuasta put to the sword.

"You lost it all on what? _Shipping?!_ "

Tellesa suppressed a curse. Their hosts were arguing again, as they were prone to when the evening rolled around and their paths crossed. She zoned it out; their marital problems were not for her to weigh in on. Her attention was on the riveting storybook in her hands.

It was times like these that she found she genuinely enjoyed the past few months of travel, despite the grief weighing down on her. The hard pace Ikharos set was difficult, but it was a tremendous achievement to realize that it was her in charge of her body, not the other way around. That she could withstand the maladies of flesh and mortality to see her will done. And she didn't have bad company. Though they didn't get along at times due to vastly different personalities, Edmont and Ikharos had been solid friends. The sailor shared in her mourning and brought a lighthearted side to the discussions they had often enjoyed during cold nights. The foreigner had brought his own changes. He had pushed her to be better, to grasp what she wanted no matter what. A year ago she would never have envisioned herself carrying anything more threatening than a knife. Now she could wield a sword and fire the exotic Tigerspite with some measure of skill. Their journey had taught her how to survive out in the wilderness, how to live off the land and how to withstand the elements. Though her future was unclear, Tellesa had skills to rely on, should fate work against her.

A loud knock reverberated throughout the house three times. The argument, a few rooms over, paused. No one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Tellesa leapt from the bench. "I'll get it!"

She opened the door. An elderly man with silvered hair and a boy - too young to be yet be a man - looked to her expectantly, horses behind them.

"Does Jeod live here?" The old man asked.

Tellesa was about to answer when she had the sudden epiphany that she knew him. "You are the storyteller of... Carvahall."

Their expressions changed completely. The elder, puzzled, sent her a searching look. "Do I know you?"

"My companions and I were traveling with the Traders and passed through. Your telling of the old tale was... incredible." Tellesa backtracked. "Ah, yes, Jeod does live here. I assume you want to talk with him?"

"Yes, please."

"Right." She walked inside and met the merchant as he was leaving his study. Helen quickly brushed past them and spared Tellesa a glare. The rebel ignored her. "There's someone here for you."

"I... yes, thank you." The merchant sighed. He marched up to the door with all the readiness of a man walking to his death and opened it. Then, inexplicably, he sagged and leaned against the doorframe. Fear grasped her heart and she internally cursed herself for not having a weapon on her, yet she ran to his aid nonetheless. Her worry was baseless, as the merchant spoke up in a low and whispered voice. "Brom?"

"It's good to see you, Jeod! I'm glad that memory has not failed you, but don't use that name. It would be unfortunate if anyone knew I was here."

Jeod looked around, and seeing Tellesa waiting uncertainly behind, beckoned her to join them. "I thought you were dead," he muttered. The old man shifted uncomfortably. "What happened? Why haven't you contacted me before?"

"All things will be explained. Do you have a place where we can talk safely?"

Jeod hesitated and looked back into the house.

"The castle?" Tellesa offered. He'd often brought colleagues and investors there to talk.

"Yes, good," the merchant sighed and faced the strangers. "We can't talk here, but if you both wait a moment, I'll take you somewhere we can." He disappeared back into his home for a moment, then returned with his embroidered jacket and a rapier at his hip. He handed a dagger to Tellesa, which she gratefully accepted. Though she would rather have brought something more effective, she was well aware that a woman with a sword would easily attract unwanted attention.

The old man looked pointedly in her direction.

Jeod noticed it quickly. "We can trust her."

"Hm..." Though unsatisfied, the elder didn't argue any further. They followed Jeod from the house though the streets of Teirm.

"Risthart, the lord of Teirm, has decreed that all the business owners must have their headquarters in his castle. Even though most of us conduct our business elsewhere, we still have to rent rooms there. It's nonsense, but we abide by it anyway to keep him calm. We'll be free of eavesdroppers in there; the walls are thick." Jeod told them amiably. His mood had improved considerably in the past few minutes.

The guards of the fortress let them pass into the keep without argument, likely recognizing the merchant. Jeod pointed the boy to a spot for the boy to tether the horses, then opened a secured door with a key and brought them inside. The keep was cold and the corridors were lit with meagre torches. This was an Imperial stronghold, and that made her nervous. Though the rebels had brought down the larger bastion of Kuasta, that had only been possible with the unanimous support of the people and the assistance of Ikharos. She doubted that it would ever be repeated in Teirm, where the public opinion was not quite so opposed to the empire.

Jeod ushered them into a room with a bearskin rug and numerous chairs. Bookshelves stock full of tomes lined the walls. Had Ikharos been here, she knew he would have read his way through the lot. Had he stayed with them, he would have found a kindred spirit in their host.

The merchant lit a fire in the hearth and said, "You, old man, have some explaining to do."

The elder, Brom, smiled. "Who are you calling an old man? The last time I saw you there was no gray in your hair. Now it looks like it's in the final stages of decomposition."

"And you look nearly the same as you did twenty years ago. Time seems to have preserved you as a crotchety old man just to inflict wisdom upon each new generation. Enough of this! Get on with the story. That's always what you were good at."

Brom fell back into a chair and pulled out a smoke pipe. Tellesa cringed. The Arcaena monks had frowned upon that unhealthy practice. She remembered Ertharis, while he still had his sight, had beaten Rendan black and blue with a cane when the rebel tried it. The soldier stood no chance against the fury of the withered abbot. "Do you remember what we were doing in Gil'ead?"

"Yes, of course. That sort of thing is hard to forget."

"An understatement, but true nevertheless," the storyteller said drily. "When we were... separated, I couldn't find you. In the midst of the turmoil I stumbled into a small room. There wasn't anything extraordinary in it - just crates and boxes - but out of curiosity, I rummaged around anyway. Fortune smiled on me that hour, for I found what we had been searching for." Jeod visibly stiffened. "Once it was in my hands, I couldn't wait for you. At any second I might have been discovered, and all lost. Disguising myself as best I could, I fled the city and ran to the..." Brom paused and glanced at the boy and Tellesa in turn. "Ran to our friends. They stored it in a vault, for safekeeping, and made me promise to care for whomever received it. Until the day when my skills would be needed, I had to disappear. No one could know that I was alive - not even you - though it grieved me to pain you unnecessarily. So I went north and hid in Carvahall."

Jeod frowned. "Then our... friends knew that you were alive all along?"

"Yes."

The merchant sighed. "I suppose the ruse was unavoidable, though I wish they had told me. Isn't Carvahall farther north, on the other side of the Spine?"

Brom nodded.

"I assume, then, that you are fulfilling your duty."

"No, it's not that simple. It was stolen a while ago - at least that's what I presume, for I haven't received word from our friends, and I suspect their messengers were waylaid - so I decided to find out what I could. Eragon happened to be traveling direction. We have stayed together for a time now."

Jeod, puzzled, asked another question. "But if they haven't sent any messages, how could you know that it was-"

The elder interrupted him, his face said in a grim frown. "Eragon's uncle was brutally killed by the Ra'zac. They burned his home and nearly caught him in the process. He deserves revenge, but they have left us without a trail to follow, and we need help finding them."

Ra'zac. The word felt familiar to her... A monster. That was it. Another terrible beast, but one that should have been long extinct in Alagaësia according to the histories kept by the Arcaena. Had they survived in other lands? Did Ikharos know them? She would have to ask him when next they met. Perhaps these were from his homeland, brought here by the same winds and currents.

The merchant nodded. "I see... but why have you come here? I don't know where the Ra'zac might be hiding, and anyone who does won't tell you."

Brom stood, reached into his robes and pulled out a curious flask, which he tossed to Jeod. "There's Seithr oil in there - the dangerous kind. The Ra'zac were carrying it. They lost it by the trail, and we happened to find it. We need to see Teirm's shipping records so we can trace the empire's purchases of the oil. That should tell us where the Ra'zac's lair is."

Tellesa spoke up. "The empire's records... they employ Ra'zac as well?"

Jeod nodded. "The empire has many terrible servants, each more vile than the last." He turned to the other two, speaking softly. "Tellesa here survived an encounter with a Shade. We have reason to believe the empire was using it to put down insurgencies."

"That is... dark news," Brom frowned. "Surely they cannot control it."

"I don't know how, but we have a reason to believe they did, to some extent."

Tellesa's throat threatened to close up. She hated talking about this. "It doesn't matter. It's gone. We hunted it down and killed it."

"But Shades are-" The youth began. She didn't give him the time to finish.

"It wasn't me. Someone else ambushed it with weaponry it couldn't protect itself from. It's dead."

"A wizard, Brom." Jeod elaborated. "A foreigner and one of the strangest men I've ever met. Aside from you, of course."

"Aha," Brom remarked drily. "Who was he?"

"A man by the name of Ikharos. He could manage fantastical things. He is long gone now, I'm afraid, but we may see him again in time... Now, those records you seek." The merchant closed his eyes tiredly and pointed to the books. "Do you see those? They are all records from my business. You have gotten yourself into a project that could take months. There is another, greater problem. The records you seek are held in this castle, but only Brand, Risthart's administrator of trade, sees them on a regular basis. Traders such as myself aren't allowed to handle them. They fear that we will falsify the results, thus cheating the empire of its precious taxes."

"I can deal with that when the time comes," the elder assured him. "But we need a few days of rest before we can think about proceeding."

Jeod grinned. "It seems that is my turn to help you. My house is yours of course. Do you have any other name while you are here?"

"Yes. I'm Neal, and the boy is Evan."

"Eragon," Jeod said. "You have a unique name. Few have ever been named after the first Rider. In my life I've read about only three people who were called such."

Brom looked to the boy. "Could you go check on the horses and make sure they're alright? I don't think I tied Snowfire to the ring tightly enough."

The message was far from subtle. The elder gave the same look to Tellesa. She, in turn, glanced to Jeod. When the merchant shrugged, she dipped her head and left. She would respect their want for a private talk.

Outside, she leaned by the wall beside the door. The boy, Eragon, double checked the knots holding the horse and did a terrible job of suppressing a frustrated sigh. Tellesa sat down and tried her best to clear her mind. It had been one of Ikharos' less violent teachings.

* * *

_"You don't sleep?"_

_"I do, but I stave off the need with meditation."_

_"What is... that?"_

_"It is when I clear the mind, relax my body, and commune with the Light. The last part is optional and may be substituted with other elements. I've known Warlocks who like to meditate on the tallest peaks and feel the coldest of winds wash over them, or delve into the deepest jungles and listen to all the life around them. I like to contemplate the mysteries of the universe while I do so. It is... pleasant."_

_"Is it difficult to learn?"_

_"Not at all. Here, sit. Clear your mind. Control your breathing. Feel your heart slow? You don't need to expend near as much energy. Our bodies are tools of the mind, but our mind needs to ensure that they are kept in good condition. Respect it and care for it. We only ever have one."_

* * *

She cleared her mind and focused on the distant crash of waves against the piers some, the cries of hungry gulls, and the shouts of sailors at the docks. Edmont might have been there, working with other deckhands once employed by Jeod, working on what was left of the business.

Something felt... off. A presence by her mind, at the door but unable to get in. She opened her eyes, and the presence disappeared in an instant. Tellesa found the youth had been staring at her.

"What?" She asked, wincing at the harshness of her words

Eragon, though, seemed undeterred by the stern tone. "How did you get that scar?"

Ah. That. If she were being honest, she had mostly forgotten about that. Tellesa reached up and traced the burn mark. "An Urgal thrust a flaming torch at me."

"Oh."

"I gutted it for its efforts." She added quietly. It had been her first kill. She had not regretted it.

The youth paused, then said, "I killed two Urgals in Yazuac. They had slaughtered everyone within."

Images of Kuasta flashed before her. The grand slaughter, the helplessness she felt, seeing even Rendan fall to the Shade's blade. It was nearly too much to bear. "I've seen their work. They are brutal. But," she felt hollow saying these words, "we cannot blame them for their nature. Only punish them when they act against us."

Ikharos had taught her that. It had been clear from his tales that his people had suffered greatly at the hands of the Fallen, yet he did not swear bloody vengeance or embark on a great genocide against their people. Instead he learned from them, tried to understand their reasoning, and fought when necessary. Though she had not the powers or the long life of the Guardian, she strove to learn from his example.

After some length, the door opened.

"Were the horses alright?" Brom asked.

"Fine," Eragon responded. He sounded subdued. Perhaps her words had some impact.

They had almost reached the merchant's home when their conversations resumed. "So, Jeod," Brom said. "You finally settled down. Congratulations."

"And married, too," Jeod replied unhappily. "Though Helen is not... pleased with our circumstances.

Tellesa laughed quietly. "She threw a vase at you yesterday."

"Bah," the merchant said, playing along. He didn't mind jests or banter. "Both my head and the vase were unharmed."

"Only because I caught it."

"Well done, by the way. You should make a profession out of that."

"Catching objects thrown with malicious intent by irate wives? I'll pass."

"Why is she unhappy?" Brom asked, smiling.

"She comes from a wealthy family," Jeod explained. "Her father has invested heavily in my business. If I keep suffering these losses, there won't be enough money for her to live the way she's used to. But please, my troubles are not your troubles."

"Unless you happen to be in the way of flying vases," Tellesa added.

Jeod chuckled. "Aye, but a host should never bother guests with his own concerns. While you all stay under my roof, I will let nothing more than an over-full stomach disturb you."

"Thank," Brom said. "We appreciate the hospitality. Our travels have long been without comforts of any kind. Do you happen to know where we could find an inexpensive shop? All this riding has worn out our clothes."

"Of course. That's my job." They stopped outside his home. "Would you mind if we went somewhere else to eat? It might be awkward if you came in right now."

"Whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Thanks. Let's leave your horses in my stable. Tellesa, where is Edmont?"

She shrugged. "Still working, I think. He'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I don't want to leave him alone to face Helen's fury."

"He'll probably find a tavern to outdrink the other sailors. That man has an affinity for ale and bad wine."

They headed to a tavern she knew in passing from previous visits. Jeod paid for a generous supper of stuffed suckling pig, potatoes, carrots, turnips, and sweet apples. It was filling and delightful, though lacked the flair that even the simplest of meals had when Ikharos prepared them with his unusual ingredients. Tellesa didn't let it bother her, however, and enjoyed the meal as it was.

**000**

The Ketch hit the water at an angle, and for a few moments, skimmed over the surface. Then it sunk down and dragged along the shallow sea-floor, digging up stone and sand. Skriviks held on tight as the entire ship trembled with the impact, and winced as it scraped up on the banks of what had appeared to be an island from above. Already he could imagine the intensive damage to the underside. With the shielding overloaded, the metal had been exposed to the scorching entry into the atmosphere and the sharp rocks below.

"MINE-ELIKSNI!" Krinok bellowed over the intercom. "MINE-SCARS, TO THE ATRIUM, NOW! OR DIE!"

The Archon growled. So it began. The traitor's rule. Monoliks Prime warbled worriedly. Skriviks placed a hand against the Servitor's plates and hummed. "It is not forever-lasting, my Monoliks. Trust in Tarrhis-Baron."

Their hope rested on a newly hatched _kelekh_. It infuriated him, this fixation on honour, but he had only himself to blame. After the Whirlwind has split the Houses and shattered Stone, he had lamented the death of their culture and their old ways. In a useless fixation on the past, he had attempted to instill a sense of honour in the young he helped teach. Tarrhis had taken it to hearts. Taniks did too, in his own way, and despised the new savage ways their people embraced. Especially the docking. Sometimes, Skriviks blamed himself for the Grand Betrayal. He had laid the seeds for Taniks' splinter from the House. For the murder of Morvaks-kel.

But he hadn't erred here, he was sure of that. Though raising a child to Kell only made the path to saving the Scars all the more difficult, Tarrhis would see it through. He was a great Baron and a true Scar.

"Oh, Valdas-kel. Why did you have to go?" He mumbled. Reluctantly, the Archon gathered himself and left to pay homage to the false-Kell. This would be a bloody stain on the banner, he knew.

**000**

Ikharos dissected the jumpships. Though the twin Arcadia-class machines were of a familiar design and composed of simple engineering, the Echo-class had the parts more suited to repairing his Pallas Galliot. The make was similar enough that it was the best available donor for parts. The only problem, one which he grew increasingly aware of as he carefully took the battered ship apart, was that he didn't know how to build his Galliot back up. The Arcadias, though easy for him to work with, were beyond saving. He took what he could from their dented husks and left the rest in a junk pile.

"We still can't leave," his Ghost quietly reminded him. "He won't let us."

"I can still use this," Ikharos replied. He wouldn't find plasteel anywhere else. He needed to be smart with what he had. This world hadn't the technology he took for granted in Sol. Even Glimmer, normally an easy resource to farm at home, wasn't in circulation in the markets. And Glimmer Drills were both costly in resources to make and difficult to design. The programmable matter was their only method of creating more ammunition or repairing armour. Without it, he'd be down to a knife and his scarce Light.

"So... what now?"

"We have few options. Stand by and wait for something to find us, or do something meaningful in that time."

"Not going to continue your investigation? We have the chance to learn all we want."

"I've learned all I need to," Ikharos bit out, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms. He stepped back from the piles of parts, organized by type and function. Xiān took it all away. "Will he at least let us use our equipment?"

"I'll... check." She disappeared for a few moments, then returned in a flash of light. "I don't think he cares, as long as we don't try to escape. He knows you can survive. He said... he'd shoot us down every single time until we learned."

Ikharos gritted his teeth. "So?"

"He'll let us use our Sparrow. He's lifted the jammer. He'll even let us fly, if we fix the Galliot."

"I don't like him."

"Yeah, well, Warminds aren't known for being nice. You know full well what Rasputin does to people he doesn't like."

Ikharos walked to the water's edge. A couple of dolphins, eager to meet the human, briefly surfaced and chirped questioningly. "He's a machine of causal design. I can get past him."

He donned the flippers and mask once more. There was more to explore, debris to reclaim and powerful weapons to recover. A portion of the ship had been torn off in the crash - perfect for his own designs. A more permanent dwelling - complete with a laboratory - seemed to be in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Having a blast writing Eliksni stuff. It's... unusually fun. The medieval/pirate/alien aspect is fun to explore. They're just one of those fictional races that I find really interesting.


	17. Crash Landing II

They hit the ground running. Ripper pods were dropped en masse, littering the darkening sky and pounding into the forest below. The carrier continued onwards at an angle, hitting the mountain range with a tremendous crash. Shrapnel and flames flew out with the sudden cascade of rock, burying the far mountainside. Not that Zhonoch cared. The Viligant gritted his small sharp teeth as the pod tumbled on the strong winds and braced himself for the end of it. The impact was jarring, as always, but he carried through and looked around with rifle at the ready, scanning the trees for hostiles. His pod had cleared a scorched clearing, and what animals might have normally been present had already fled. Distant pops marked the positions of other pods, the rest of what remained of the subfleet.

"Got anything?" The Viligant asked.

Tlac put his fingers against his temples and winced. "I do." He pointed in a random direction. "Primus wants us there."

That was enough for the Cabal. Grasping the exhausted Psion and throwing him over a shoulder, Zhonoch thundered through the brush and made his way to the rendezvous point, ignoring his partner's complaints.

The temporary base was already half-built. A heavy shield generator went up the moment they arrived, to protect them from aerial bombardment. The sentries, garbed in the red and blue of the Worldbreaker Legion, raised their rifles.

"Oi!" Zhonoch growled. He dropped Tlac and held out his arms. His armour, pale ivory plate and cloth of gold, should have been very familiar. "Watch it!"

"Sorry," a Legionary said without meaning it. The barrel dipped down. "Have any trouble?"

"No. Where's the locals?"

"Don't rightly know. Bit slow, aren't they?" The other sentry pointed behind him. "Primus is organizing a plan of action. Get in there."

Zhonoch growled and brushed past them. Tlac, silent and cradling his head, stumbled after him.

* * *

Da'aurc was as loud and gruff as always - the perfect Cabal. A trio of Psion field medics were trying to keep him still long enough to pry out the burning bar of steel in his gut, but the Primus was determined to see the briefing through.

"WE COME, WE SEE, WE CONQUER!" He bellowed. A holotable had been set up in the middle of the flimsy military tent, detailing the immediate area. They had fallen upon a wild expanse of mountain range and forest, but at the edge of the growing image, what appeared to be a settlement was taking form. "I WANT THIS FOR US! THEIR DEFENSES WILL BECOME OUR DEFENSES! THEIR WEAPONS WILL BECOME OUR WEAPONS!"

"Shall we wait for their offensive, or press our own?" Valus Ca'adun asked eagerly.

"ATTACK!" Da'aurc shouted. "ALWAYS ATTACK! ALWAYS EXPAND!"

Zhonoch huffed, quietly. They'd just landed and already they were set to take the world by storm. It was times like these that he missed his life before the military. The lull between arena fights was always welcomed, for spectators and fighters both. It allowed the organizers to tantalize to them what came next, but soldiers like their Primus just never knew when to stop.

* * *

He found Tlac with his brothers, idly sorting supplies. Foodstuffs and ammunition both were prioritized above all else. There were still Cabal out scrounging what they could from the shattered ships cargo hold. They'd already reclaimed what machines could operate yet, and they were awaiting the refueling of a pair of Threshers. Da'aurc wanted to send word back to the empire of their predicament.

He didn't know what to think of Psion family units. Siblings were close, like that of bond-brothers or bond-sisters, though the difference in culture shone through. They were very different, the three, but each understood the other perfectly. Tlac was a Flayer and came with powerful psionic abilities, while Cadon was a skilled sniper who relied on his sharp physical senses. Orche was a strategist, ill-suited to fieldwork; a genius in operating the Battlenet. They knew him through their brother, but he had only ever met the two on a few select occasions.

They fell silent as he approached.

"Zhonoch," Cadon greeted in the gruffest voice there ever was on a Psion. "Are we pressing the attack?"

"Not yet." The ex-gladiator jerked his head back. "Messengers are launching."

"They'll die," Orche warned.

"That your clairvoyance?"

"What? N-no, that's just... common sense! The defense grid up there's much too advanced."

"I guess we'll find out." Zhonoch turned to the Flayer. "Primus wants us to scout ahead, check out the settlement."

Tlac groaned. "My head..."

Cadon pushed way from a crate as tall as he was. "I'll go."

"Is that smart?" Orche asked, his high-pitched voice thick with worry.

The sniper shrugged. "Might be, might not be. I want to get a measure of our targets." He hefted his headhunter rifle. "When?"

"Few kliks. I need to grab the others."

* * *

The Threshers shot up into the sky with reckless abandon. A lot of fuel had been packed within to last them the journey. A pity it was wasted. Just as Orche predicted, the satellites activated and tore the gunships apart with bursts of charged plasma beams.

Da'aurc twirled around, pointed at Zhonoch and ordered him off. "FIND ME SOMETHING!"

The Vigilant saluted - crashing a fist against his metal plate - and marched off with a small party armed to the teeth. They had everything from anti-armour weaponry to mobile shield generators, even a trio of Scorpius turrets. This was a Worldbreaker operation and they never did anything lightly.

The group, a handful of Cabal and even less Psions, hiked through the woods with eyes on their surroundings and their motion trackers. Some time after they had left the relative safety of the fortified encampment, the wildlife seeped back into the area, chittering and chirping to themselves. Zhonoch paused to watch a pair of unfamiliar creatures with long busy tails poke their heads out of a hole and observe him with some alarm. Then, oddly enough, another native beast of similarly miniscule size landed on his shoulder. The little thing twitched its feathered wings, hopped twice, and flew off. The Vigilant watched it disappear with an emotion he just could not read.

"Hey," the Psion at his side said to break him out of his reverie. Cadon motioned with his free hand down a faint trail. "The settlement is that way."

The Cabal nodded and steeled his nerves.

* * *

Nothing. The settlement had nothing but Psion-sized sapients operating primitive farming tools, herding unintelligent-looking animals, and sheltering in flimsy wooden buildings. No metal bunkers, no defensive turrets, not even a radar dish. The sight before the group contrasted heavily with the defense grid orbiting the planet. Zhonoch just couldn't understand it. It had to be a trap of some sort!

"I don't see any illusionary ripples or feel and electrical currents," Cadon reported, his single eye glued to the rifle's scope. "There's nothing amiss. By all rights, that is what it appears to be."

"Impossible," grunted their sole Incendior.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," the sniper replied. "We need a Flayer to check for anomalies."

Before anyone else could make a suggestion, Zhonoch stood. "No. Primus wants something, so we'll give him something, one way or another."

"Sir?"

"We're taking it." He loaded his slug rifle. "Come on."

* * *

Capturing the settlement - a hamlet, really - was simple. They strode in, yelled, and fired shots. The residents screamed and cowered. It was a surprising outcome, one he never anticipated. A couple tried to put up a fight, but they wielded the tools they had been using earlier. One tried to jab Zhonoch with a pitchfork. The metal spokes crumpled against his armour and he backhanded its head off. Another, perhaps weak with age, charged out of its home with a rusty steel sword. Cadon put it down with a single shot.

The conquerors herded the natives into a huddle in the centre of their home, with four Legionaires left to guard. Zhonoch left to radio it in. He was left disappointed by the entire ordeal.

"WHAT HAVE YOU GIVEN ME?!"

"I've captured the settlement, sir. And taken prisoners," the Vigilant reported. "The natives are rather primitive."

"WHAT?! I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT, I WANT ACCESS TO THAT DEFENSE GRID! TRACE THEM TO THEIR CENTRAL POPULATION HUB!"

"Sir, they don't even have a communications device to trace."

"PRIMITIVES!" The subsequent crash of broken machinery translated through the radio as a mass of buzzing static. "THEN WE WILL USE FLAYERS!"

"Yes, sir. Bringing them in now." Zhonoch switched off the radio and turned to his hastily organized squad, drawn from two different legions - not to mention the cohorts and maniples. "We're taking them back to base. Take what you want. Burn the rest."

**000**

Somehow, despite the mostly undisturbed calm that claimed the city, Tellesa still found herself roped into adventures, albeit tame ones. The act of tracking was a recently learned skill; nevertheless, tracking through the use of records was one she never would have suspected possible, yet Jeod and Brom were adamant that it would work.

They had some distance to go, yet. Eragon couldn't read and, with the plan necessitating everyone to pitch in, the elder was determined to see that the boy would learn. It was rewarding, she knew, though it wouldn't be easy when fitted into a single week. Brom had set high expectations for the youth. It had taken her much longer.

The arrival of the other pair culminated into a pleasant surprise; sparring. What had begun in the abandoned barn in the Kuastan region had quickly morphed into a pastime during the hunt for the Shade. Both Ikharos and Edmont were warriors who practiced their trade when their schedule allowed for it, and their quest had resulted in her inheriting those skills. Since their return to Teirm, that had ceased to happen, on account of Edmont hard at work at the docks most days and Ikharos having departed for Vroengard. Jeod could fight, but since it was his business that was suffering, he was even more hard pressed than the sailor to preserve what remained of his holdings.

Brom and Eragon, though, were avid sword fighters too. Oftentimes, after a lengthy lesson on literacy, they sparred out in the open yard. Spectators came in the form of wide-eyed children and servants finished with work, alongside herself. She dared not take part; a woman with a sword, let alone wielding one with skill, was uncommon enough that to make it public knowledge would arouse suspicion. It was an irritation, and furthered her desire to leave the suffocating confines of civilization behind, to strike out into the freedom offered by the lawless frontier found everywhere between the empire's cities.

"Yer restless," Edmont observed on one such occasion. Tellesa shrugged; _I know I am, so what?_ The sailor gave her a sad smile. "Yer waiting to leave, ain't that it?"

"Teirm is nice," she admitted. "But I can't deal with all these people. All this peace. Not after everything I've seen."

"Ikharos might not come back."

"He will, I'm sure of it, but we won't ever know when."

"Then why are ye waiting?"

"Because going alone is going to kill me. I'm not even close to strong enough. I know what's out there, and I know I'm in any way capable of defeating it."

"Ye want to get strong?"

"I want to change the world. I hate it as it is now. Nothing is fair. And that isn't right. I'm going to try my damnedest to turn that around. Even if it means my death, I'll chase this. But throwing away my life through arrogance isn't going to help anyone." She leaned against the wall of the house. "It's a dream."

"It always starts with a dream." Edmont joined her, watching the duel with passing interest. Eragon grunted as the old man landed a rather painful smack against his leg. "Ye can change it. I'd say ye already have, even if in the smallest way."

"I don't want to make small changes. I want to do more. It's not about fame, just... Kuirst was all the family I had left. He always fought for what he thought was right. He was too optimistic, but I thought it would be cruel to shatter that. And now he's gone." She clenched her jaw, fighting to keep the desperation and sorrow from taking over once more. "It's not fair. The world isn't fair. It might be impossible, but I'll stand against that wrongness in whatever form it takes."

"It's ambitious... but if yer determined enough, ye can do it." The sailor nudged her shoulder. "Take the first chance ye have to get out of here."

"What about you?"

"I reckon I'll stay. I'm a better sailor than warrior. I know the seas, not the battles. This fight is still mine, but I'll be better here, doing the odd jobs to keep that eejit afloat."

Tellesa nodded, smiling. "Jeod needs all the help he can get."

"That he does."

They fell back into a comfortable silence. They didn't have much in common, but sometimes, it was a relief to just have someone who understood. Eventually, work pulled them away.

Jeod kept her busy with any extra paperwork, once he discovered her penchant for numbers, and lent her use of his small library. It was easily dwarfed by that of the Arcaena monastery, though the availability of unfamiliar tomes was welcome. There were many options to choose from, and she made the most of it.

* * *

While she made the effort to help them, Tellesa didn't often converse with the visiting pair. Something about Eragon was off; he was wary, for some reason. Always on the lookout for trouble. He was only a year or two younger than Kuirst had been, but the age difference was large enough that they had little to talk about. Discussing the atrocities committed by Urgals was not an especially pleasant talk to have.

Of Brom she had more luck. The old man had a few questions for her, and his tone was pleasant enough that she freely answered. These usually occurred in the evenings, when they would retreat to Jeod's study. Eragon left them early, every time, and left the adults to read, talk and, in the case of Brom, smoke.

"You're from Kuasta," the old storyteller said all of a sudden. It was the fifth day since he had begun mentoring Eragon on literacy.

"I am," Tellesa responded, albeit reluctantly.

"I knew it." Brom leaned back in his chair and smiled. "A beautiful region."

"Not anymore."

"Oh?"

"Shade destroyed it," she told him quietly. "With Urgals."

That caught his attention. He put the pipe aside and stared at her. "Destroyed, you say?"

"Yes."

"..." The old man fell back and looked off into nothing in particular. "That's... I'm sorry."

"Don't talk to me about it," she pleaded. "Please."

He held to that promise. Tellesa sometimes overheard the old man discussing it with Jeod, but whenever she was near, he dropped it. Brom looked troubled for some time afterwards, enough that Eragon commented on it. After that, the storyteller refocused and doubled down on the lessons.

* * *

The day finally came when Brom finally revealed his dastardly plan, summoning those involved to the study. Brom gestured to Eragon and said, "Now that you can help us, I think it's time to move ahead."

"What did you have in mind?"

Brom smiled. Jeod, seeing it, groaned. "I know that look; it's what got us into trouble in the first place."

"A slight exaggeration, but not unwarranted. Very well, this is what we'll do..."

* * *

She would accompany them to the castle once the sun was set. Edmont would stay behind with horses and packed bags at the ready, in case they needed to flee.

Tellesa donned her knife. She left her rifle and sword with her bags; too valuable to leave behind if trouble sparked, but too conspicuous to bring along. Eragon took his bow with him, Brom a staff and sword, and Jeod his rapier. The last item garnered some ridicule.

"That toad sticker is too thin for real fighting. What will you do if someone comes after you with a broadsword or flamberge?"

"Be realistic," the merchant argued. "None of the guards have a flamberge. Besides, this _toadsticker_ is faster than a broadsword."

"Easier to wield indoors, too," Tellesa observed.

Brom shrugged. "On your necks be it."

They left the house and made their way to the castle, deftly avoiding the night watch. Tellesa paid close attention to both how much noise she made and for the sounds of others. The clinking of metal armour was a dead giveaway for the presence of guards and aided in keeping clear of the Imperials. They traveled along the outer wall of the city to the castle, then, once the coast was clear, made for the gates. Jeod pounded on the wooden barrier. A small grille opened and a guard reeking of spirits grunted. "Ya?"

"We need to get in," the merchant told him.

"Wha' for?"

"The boy here left something valuable in my office. We have to retrieve it immediately." Eragon lowered his eyes.

The guard rolled his eyes. "Ah, wha'ever. Jus' make sure 'n give 'im a good beating f'r me."

"Will do." Tellesa cuffed the boy's ear. Eragon winced and grumbled. The guard chuckled and opened the gate. As they passed inside, Brom discreetly handed the soldier a few crowns. The guard thanked him and wandered away, likely back to his bottles.

They quickly made their way inside the castle and to the records room. The door was locked shut. Then, inexplicably, it opened when Brom laid his hand against it and muttered a few words.

Tellesa's eyes widened. _Magic_. The elderly man was a mage, as well as a storyteller, and seemingly a fellow rebel. Her interest was piqued. She grabbed a torch from a nearby bracket and followed the others in, closing the door quietly behind her.

The small square room was filled with racks full of scrolls and had an iron-barred window on the far side. Jeod, seeing something familiar, waved them over to the back of the room. "These are the shipping records for the past five years. You can tell the date by the wax seals on the corner."

"What now?" Tellesa asked, her voice hushed.

"Start at the top and work down. Some scrolls only deal with taxes. You can ignore those. Look for anything that mentions Seithr oil." He produced a sheet of parchment, an inkwell and pen from his pouch. "Record what you find."

Tellesa fit the torch into another bracket above and settled down to work. The words were not quite as neat as she would have liked, but she made some progress, marking down as many tidbits of relevant information as she could, her mind whirling with the newest relevation. _Another wizard._

**000**

Calum was a shepherd. He tended to the flocks, taking turns to watch and care for them with his two older brothers and father. His mother and sister only ever joined them on rare occasions; they were more involved in mending clothes and bartering for food and materials in town. It wasn't an exciting life for the boy, as the long periods of nothing could stretch on forever, but he enjoyed the sights afforded to him by the location of his home. The sea was always on the horizon in Beirland and he enjoyed looking at it, wondering what adventures waited across oceans.

Today was no different. The clouds were dark and low, ready to unleash their torrents, and the waves below were frothing mad. The winds pulled at his tunic and cloak, so Calum hugged it closer. It could get cold out in the fields. Beside him, the family hound laid on its side and shared in the warmth. It was time to lay low and weather the storm. Even the sheep stood still and waited for it to wash over them, appearing utterly miserable to him. Calum couldn't blame them. It would be an unpleasant night. Though his father had built a barn, the lush fields could only be accessed from a natural rock bridge, far too dangerous to cross when soaked. Though he despised it, Calum knew that he would have to endure what was to come; someone needed to watch over the animals. At least he had his lifelong friend with him.

There was something odd about the horizon. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but when the frighteningly loud lightning struck, it lit up what laid beyond for the briefest of moments. There was a difference, he was sure of it. Something had changed.

Just when he thought he had narrowed it down - an odd spire formation that he hadn't seen before - he noticed what appeared to be... beetles. In the air, flying. They were tiny, but as he reached out, they didn't shy away. Neither did he touch them. Tiny dots, mere shadows in the dim light, they irked the shepherd. The boy waved his hand vigorously, but the beetles didn't move. No, they seemed to grow.

Then, with a shock, Calum realized that they weren't right in front of him, but far away shapes flitting beneath the clouds. At that distance they had to be... had to be huge!

Archi, the ever faithful sheepdog, rose up and strode forward, having spotted them too. The hound barked, once, and then again. The sheep roused from their resignation to a miserable storm and swayed uncertainly; they trusted their guardian. They knew by his growls that they were under threat.

"Hold, Archi!" Calum called out. He didn't know why, but he was getting scared. He didn't like the look of those beetles.

"Woof!" The dog ignored him and continued its territorial display.

The beetles grew as they came closer, headed directly for them. They were huge, with a bulky front, and they raced through the air on invisible wings. And then, suddenly, more appeared behind them, bursting out into view. They were only a few, and at first Calum thought them to be part of the same flock, but that quickly changed.

One of the newer beetles shot out twin lightning bolts and struck another. The second lurched to one side, erupted into flames, and dropped like a stone into the broiling ocean below. The rest of the flock scattered wildly, as if a predator had suddenly landed among them. Three of them even flew directly over the fields, scaring the sheep into stampeding away and pushing Archi into a frenzy. They soared high ahove, but it was close enough for Calum to understand their true scale. They were easily as large as his house, perhaps larger, and flew through the skies with a grace that belied their bulky bodies. They were gone within moments, shrinking silhouettes in the darkening dusk. The young shepherd was left full of terrified awe.

Those left behind were the attackers. One or two had given chase, but the majority of their force had stayed behind, though Calum could not tell why. If they were insects, were they guarding a nest? He didn't know.

But he did know that they acknowledged the presence Beirland below, because they burst into action, zooming ahead and dipping lower. The shepherd took one last look, then ran all the way home. One of the beetles noticed him fleeing and dove low, barely above the ground, in hot pursuit of the young boy.

**000**

The command deck of the _Exodus Prime_ had fallen into an alcove above the endless abyss, delicately hanging on the edge. The dolphins rarely dove deep; surface creatures that they were, but they made the effort to bring him down to it. His first plan of action was to secure the wreck against the side of the sea trench. It may have survived the elements thus far, but all it would take was one powerful storm to banish it to the darkness beneath. Ikharos used salvaged steel-thread ropes to tether the derelict hull against the alcove. The dolphins were helpful in this, especially the caretakers. They knew machinery and could interact with the mechanisms of the ship with their sensoriums. They supplied the necessary resources and tools.

The work was tedious and difficult. The pressure of a hundred tonnes of water over him was difficult to ignore, and the current tasks required him to swim great distances and use a specialized drill to create tether spots. By his count, he'd worked from nightfall to sunrise. When it was all finally stabilized, Ikharos swam to the wreck and pried a bulkhead door open. The inside held a stale pocket of air and was completely dark. Bringing back the power took him another few hours, connecting mile-long cables to the solar panels used by the rest of the ship. The other part had a nuclear fusion reactor to boot, but Ikharos didn't want to become overly reliant on something controlled by a Warmind. He didn't need much, only enough to light up rooms and power a handful of necessary machines.

The sudden power supply kickstarted the air filter into action and allowed him to move inside without difficulty. He set up a makeshift airlock using the hallway he'd entered, one that drained the chamber of seawater and filled in breathable air.

Finally, exhausted, Ikharos collapsed in an armchair in the largest room he could find. It would be his laboratory. Or armoury. Maybe both.

"Can we talk?"

He didn't answer the Ghost. She took that as a confirmation. "I'm sorry. I might have crossed some lines."

Ikharos turned his head to look at her.

"Okay, I _did_ cross some lines. But you've got to-"

"No," Ikharos said. His tone was neither angry or pleasant. It was neutral, just like the cold mask he wore to hide his true emotions. "No but."

Xiān sighed. "Fine. I messed up, did something I wasn't supposed to. I cut you off from the Light when you-"

"It wasn't that." The Warlock took a deep breath. "You wanted me to play along with their games."

"No, I just want to figure out what's-"

"We played along to an Ahamkara's plans in the Dreaming City without knowing it. Three Guardians are gone. Thee Ghosts. Riven _ate_ them. I'm not going to make the same mistake."

"The Ahamkara aren't here anymore. They're dead or moved on."

"I'm not taking any chances." Ikharos laid his head back and closed his eyes.

* * *

A few hours later, he was up and cleaning out the rooms he needed. Anything worthless went out the airlock. The rest was packed away into containers and then into storage areas. When that was all dealt with, he settled back in the lab. He had an idea in mind, one that had been irking him for some time now.

He held out his hand and said, " _Brisingr_."

Fire flared to life in his palm. Ikharos extinguished it almost immediately. He stood there in silence, mulling over the implications. Then, with great reluctance, he moved to the airlock. He needed to learn more about this magic. And more words. He knew where to find them.

**000**

Formora knew storms. She had to. The west of Alagaësia was often subjected to a great many of them. Young Riders and their dragons were always trained in Ilirea or elsewhere when the Order still stood, and would not reach Vroengard until their teachers were satisfied they could traverse the heavy winds that blew in from the oceans. Storms were advantageous - they masked noise and provided cover when escaping or stalking enemies. An experienced dragon could use the wind to expend no energy in flight while sneaking up on another unseen. Galbatorix and his Forsworn, including her, had made use of such tactics. It had been one of their advantages during the early days of the rising.

But no matter what, she could never find anything positive to say about the torrential rain. Vroengard was cursed with it. The water fell down like volleys of arrows, unlimited in quantity and hitting whatever lay below with enough force to sting the skin. She took cover in a building she had helped break open so long ago, and watched from the doorway, deep in thought. The sheer noise of the rain was almost comforting, but her thoughts always led to dark places, so she distracted herself by holding the Eldunarí.

She almost missed him walking past. A flash of movement had her reaching for her blade, but upon seeing Ikharos, she forced herself to stop. The armoured stranger was strolling through the street without a care in the world, looking about curiously. His presence was... surprising. She had thought he had left for good. Or perhaps hoped.

He was frightening. His power was different from Galbatorix, but there was a connection. Both were comfortable with their might. They knew how to use it to devastating effect. Her only consolation was that the foreigner had a skewed sense of morality.

Formora rose up. He appeared to be looking for something. Or someone. Hopeful and fearful, she shouted to be heard over the splatter of rain on the muddy, puddle-ridden street. "Here!"

The stranger heard; of course he did. His hearing was as acute as that of an elf. He twirled around, regarded her with that blank helmet, and marched over. His armour was slick with rainwater and the robes trailed tiny pools into the building. "Hello."

" _Kvetha_."

He stopped where he was. "What does that mean?"

Formora blinked. His lack of knowledge regarding the Ancient Language still surprised her. "Greetings. What brings you back?"

"Magic." The stranger settled down against the wall. "I want to learn. And I'm willing to make an offer."

"Oh?"

"The same offer you made me. I know things. You know things. Let's share."

"Are these things you'll tell me useful?"

"They are. If you want anything dangerous, then you'll have to swear a couple of oaths. For my peace of mind, you see."

It wasn't a pleasant topic, oaths, but she could humour him. For now. "You want to learn magic?"

"Yes. I want to understand it."

"Is there any place you want to begin?" Formora sat opposite him.

Ikharos nodded. "The wards you use to protect yourself from radiation. That sounds useful."

" _Vardi edtha frá du eitrum unin du aera_. Protect me from the poison in the air."

Ikharos repeated the incantation. Then, with exaggerated slowness, he reached up and removed his helmet. Formora gave him a searching look. The stranger was no Shade or elf, as she had theorized. He was remarkably... human. Even so, she discovered that she could learn much just from his appearance. His skin was pale due to lack of sunlight, indicating he wore his armour on a regular basis, which further hinted at paranoia or caution. His features were narrow and his body must have been lean; he was more accustomed to running to constant physical combat, though he was easily an able warrior. His hair was auburn, faded and flattened by the helmet, disheveled and growing long. His jaw was bristly, in dire need of a shave. He hadn't the time to sit down and care for himself. His eyes were grey, almost silvered, just like steel. It matched the determination she could see in them, the iron will behind the powerful mind.

Ikharos sighed in a relieved fashion. "That's better."

"You didn't have wards before?"

"My armour is insulated against radiation." He brought his fingers, still clad in those gloves made of protective materials to his cheek. "This is far easier. Does it have a price?"

Formora frowned. "A small portion of energy. Did you not feel it?"

"How is it supposed to feel?"

"As a spike of fatigue."

"Then maybe?" Ikharos shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention. Are spells supposed to be more costly?"

"Yes." This must have been his power. That he was a magician too was a revelation she hadn't anticipated after learning of his true abilities, yet it made perfect sense. _Power is attracted to power_ , she thought bitterly. _There's always a few individuals who have it all._

The foreigner appeared perplexed. "That's detrimental to the health of the wielder. Why hasn't anyone found a way around that?"

"We have. Spells that cost less." She deadpanned.

Ikharos smiled suddenly. It took her by surprise. It was amused, warm, and tired. Very tired. "Yeah, that sounds about right. How does one make less costly spells?"

Formora suspected this wouldn't be a singular event. She didn't want to spend her time teaching, but did she have any choice? And, if Ikharos was to be believed, she would profit from this just as he would. It wasn't an opportunity she could pass up on.

**000**

"We did it!"

Tellesa couldn't stop herself from grinning. "We have."

"Yes, but now we have to figure out if it was worth the trouble," Brom said. Jeod rolled out a map on the desk in his study.

The area marked Kuasta sent an unexpectedly painful thorn digging into her heart. Her smile died and, eager to distract herself from the haunting reality of the past, she swept her gaze across to the rest of the map. Surda, the Broddring Empire, the south of the great forest Du Weldenvarden, the great expanse of the Hadarac desert and the desolate Beor Mountains. It was all there. All of known Alagaësia in perfect scrawls of ink.

Eragon dropped a finger on Urû'baen. "The Ra'zac are sure to have a hiding place here."

"You had better hope that that isn't their only sanctuary," said Brom flatly. "Otherwise you'll never get near them."

Jeod produced the parchment they had each filled with as much information as they could and unfurled it. "From what I saw in the records, there have been shipments of Seithr oil to every major city in the Empire over the past five years. As far as I can tell, all of them might have been ordered by wealthy jewelers. I'm not sure how we can narrow down the list without more information."

Brom hummed. "I think we can eliminate some cities. The Ra'zac have to travel wherever the king wants, and I'm sure he keeps them busy. If they're expected to go anywhere at anytime, the only reasonable place is for them to stay at a crossroads where they can reach every part of the country fairly easily. This crossroads has to be large enough so the Ra'zac will be inconspicuous. It also has to have enough trade so unusual requests - special food for their mounts, for example - will go unnoticed."

Tellesa cast a critical eye over the map. "That means anything on the fringes of the empire is out of the question. But is it possible that whomever receives the oil is a mere proxy? Another layer of security to hide behind?"

"Their mounts, the Lethrblaka, would need a constant food supply," Brom reminded her. "But you may be right..."

"On the other hand, I doubt they'd expect anyone to track them through their transactions. I wouldn't." She waved a hand over the centre of the empire. "Here, somewhere. To travel from north to south or the other way around would take too long. The heart of the empire is well-protected, highly populated and has high levels of trade."

"Well," said Jeod. "There's obviously Urû'baen, but that's an unlikely destination. If someone were to die from Seithr oil in Galbatorix's court, it would be all too easy for an earl or some other lord to discover that the empire has been buying large amounts of it. That still leaves a few others, any one of which could be the one we want."

"Yes," Eragon began excitedly, "but the oil wasn't sent to all of them. The parchment only lists Dras-leona, Aroughs, and Belatona. Aorughs is isolated, though it is a centre of trade. That leaves Belatona and Dras-Leona, which are rather close together. Of the two, Dras-Leona is likelier. It's larger and better situated."

"And it's where nearly all the goods of the Empire pass through at one time or another, including Teirm's," Jeod continued. "It would be a good place for the Ra'zac to hide."

"So... Dras-Leona," Brom said as he sat down and lit his pipe. "What do the records show?"

The door opened. They all froze and twirled around, and Tellesa's hand flew to her knife, but she was relieved to see it was only Edmont. The sailor held up his hands and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt ye."

Jeod waved him over and rechecked the parchment. "Here it is. At the beginning of the year, three shipments of Seithr oil were sent to Dras-Leona. Each shipment was only two weeks apart, and the records say they were all transported by the same merchant. The same thing happened last year and the year before that. I doubt any one jeweler, or even a group of them, has the money for so much oil. And, I think we forgot something - Helgrind."

Brom nodded grimly. "Ah yes, the Dark Gates. It's been many years since I've thought of it. You're right, that would make Dras-Leona perfect for the Ra'zac. I guess it's decided, then; that's where we'll go."

Tellesa, glad they had finally reached an answer, smiled in satisfaction and stepped back. She felt a poke on the arm, and turned to her neighbour. Edmont met her gaze and jerked his head towards the other guests. "Go on," he mouthed.

 _Bastard_ , she thought. Then, she spoke up. "I'd like to join you."

Everyone turned to look at her. Jeod dipped his head; he knew how she felt. Brom, though, settled her with a sharp, inquisitive stare. "This is dangerous."

"I know how to fight."

"We will cross harsh wilderness."

"I've crossed the Spine. Twice."

Then, finally, he brought out the strongest argument. "This isn't your fight."

She had the perfect answer. "It is. These are servants of the empire. I want to fight. I want to make a change. Someone told me that killing the soldiers won't do any good; they're just pawns. The Ra'zac might not be the king, but they're monsters nevertheless. Another Imperial monster destroyed everything I ever held dear." Tellesa returned the stare with a stony gaze of her own. "This is my choice. I can keep up, I can fight on equal grounds, and I won't complain."

Brom huffed. "You are young. Don't throw away your life for a matter not your own."

"My life was destroyed when the Shade killed the last of my family. This is all I have left, this struggle. I intend to give it my all."

The old man kept eye contact for some time. Then, in a sudden bout of chuckling, he nodded. "So be it. You've got fire."

Edmont patted her on the shoulder. Tellesa grinned. Perhaps it was insane, but she was glad for this chance to strike out into the uncertainties of true survival. That was where she belonged; braving the dangerous world beyond the sturdy city walls, facing down the evils in whatever dark den they called home.

Jeod rolled up the map and handed it to Brom. "You'll need this, I'm afraid. Your expeditions often take you into obscure regions." The merchant clasped the storyteller's forearm. "It doesn't feel right that you will leave without me. My heart expects to go along, but the rest of me reminds me of my age and responsibilities. I am comforted that you'll be in the company of someone with a clear head." Jeod glanced at Tellesa.

"I know," Brom returned the gesture. "You have a life in Teirm. It is time for the next generation to take up the standard. You've done your part; be happy."

"What of you? Does the road never end for you?"

Brom gave a hollow laugh. "I see it coming, but not for a while yet."

**000**

_:AI-COM/SCPO:_

_This is a SUBTLE ASSETS IMPERATIVE (NO HUMAN REVIEW) (NO AI-COM REVIEW)_

_If TROJAN is ACTIVE_

_Activate CANARY CAGE_

_Prevent departure by any means necessary_

_IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TEMPORAL ANOMALY_

_ANALYzE: [1] lifeform(s) contains [O] energy. Location: Sector 2. Query: [O] status. Query: [O] activity._

_Analysis complete._

_Lifeform sustained by [O] energy._

_Activating ARTORIUS subroutine. Status: active_

_Activating CALIBURN subroutine. Status: standby_


	18. Crash Landing III

"I'll miss ye, lass." Edmont said tearfully, grinning all the while. The sad eyes didn't fit the burly sailor.

"I'll miss you too." Tellesa hugged him. "Behave yourself."

"Ach, ye have no faith in me, do ye?"

"Not a shred."

Tellesa grinned, shouldered her pack, and took the rope for her steed. It had been a final gift of Jeod's, an amber-haired Morgan outfitted with a proper saddle complete with horns to tie her bags. It responded well to instruction, which was welcome, as she hadn't ridden a horse in many years.

"I'll miss you, old man," Jeod said, embracing Brom.

"And you I," Brom replied thickly. He stepped away, bowed his head, and turned to Helen. "Thank you for your hospitality; it was most gracious." Her face reddened. Brom, ever the troublemaker, continued on as if all was well. "You have a good husband; take care of him. There are few men as brave and determined as he is. But even he cannot weather difficult times without the support from those he loves." He bowed again. "Only a suggestion, dear lady."

Helen slammed the door in his face. Jeod sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You bastard."

"I don't envy you," Tellesa clasped the merchant's hand. "Thank you. For everything."

"I did what any decent person could have," he brushed off. "Fare well, Tellesa. I can't say what lies ahead of you is a better life, but... I know that you wouldn't choose any other. Good luck. And take care of these two."

She, Brom and Eragon mounted their horses and departed. The guards at the south gate didn't try to stop them, fortunately, and they were free to leave. The city fell behind as they delved out first into the rolling hills surrounding the port city, then following the Toark river to its source in the gap between the north and the south of the Spine.

* * *

"What are werecats?" Eragon asked suddenly.

Tellesa frowned. Hadn't there been... yes, a werecat in Teirm. She often saw him prowling around the herbalist's shop. He seemed nice enough, but Ikharos had burned those bridges. "What's the reason?"

"I heard someone mention them in Teirm. They're not real, are they?"

"They are quite real," Brom answered. "During the Riders' years of glory, they were as renowned as the dragons. Kings and elves kept them as companions - yet the werecats were free to do what they chose. Very little has ever been known about them. I'm afraid that their race has become rather scarce recently."

"Could they use magic?"

"No one's sure, but they could certainly do unusual things. They always seemed to know what was going on and somehow or another manage to get themselves involved." The old man pulled up his hood to keep back the chilling wind. Even down in the valleys, the Spine's influence could be felt.

Eragon's questions continued. "What's Helgrind?"

"You'll see when we get to Dras-Leona."

"Mountains, aren't they?" Tellesa mused. "Of some importance to the people of the city, I've heard."

"That would be right," Brom nodded. Then, for some unknown reason, he paused and glanced to her worriedly. "There is something we must tell you, before we go any further."

The horses slowed to meander. Eragon, too, looked very awkward all of a sudden.

Tellesa raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yes..."

"Is this going to put me in danger?"

"Very likely. I thought to warn you."

She shrugged. "The moment the empire learns of me and what I've done, my life is in peril no matter what. The risks don't frighten me. Not anymore."

The youth and storyteller exchanged a look. The latter nodded slowly, evidently troubled by her response. "If you're sure."

Tellesa resisted the urge to snap. She wasn't fragile; she could take whatever was thrown her way. She hated to be treated like someone with no business being outside a homestead. "I am."

Brom made a brief gesture to Eragon. The boy closed his eyes and... Tellesa flinched. She thought she heard something. A shout, so very distant, as if muffled by a number of sturdy walls. Only, neither of her companions had said a word. She looked around, but couldn't see anyone else nearby.

She couldn't explain why, but her mind urged her to look upwards just in time to see something rush from a low hanging cloud and plummet towards them. She almost panicked, but Brom reached over and steadied her steed's bridle. He shook his head calmly, the hints of a smile forming.

The falling shape opened up with a dull roar, flaring out its massive, magnificent wings and slowed its descent. She knew, from the mere outline of it against the sun, what it was before it reached the ground. Even though she had never seen its like before, the size and form were unmistakable.

"Dragon," she whispered. The light bounced off its scales and near blinding her, until the wings reached up and threw her in its shadow. Her Morgan tried to buck, but Brom whispered assurances to the poor animal. The other horses, though ambling nervously, behaved themselves.

When the dragon touched the dirt trail before them, a tense silence filled the area. Their surroundings obscured them from any prying eyes with the hills and smattering of young trees about, though she didn't care about that. No, Tellesa was very much enraptured by the sight before her. It was large, more than twice the size of an ox, with wings each three times that length made of great flaps of skin like that of a bat. The tail flicked at the end, long and tapered almost like a rudder. Large spines lined its back, from the top of the neck all the way to the tail. Horns sprouted from behind its skull. The head rested on the end of a long, powerful neck with fearsome jaws. Though it hadn't bared them, Tellesa was positive there were rows of fearsome fangs hidden within. The eyes, both blue jewels, sparkled with incredible intelligence, and they were trained on her.

Tellesa sat breathless, paralyzed by instinctual terror and awestruck wonder. This was myth made flesh right before her eyes. The splendid scales, the tense muscles beneath the skin, and fierce gaze all gave life to the legends of old.

Her sword was in its sheath, but she was under no illusions that it was next to useless against a dragon. Her Tigerspite, though, was in her bags. If the foreign weapons could kill a Shade, maybe they could-

" _So that is what your females look like._ "

The voice came from nowhere and everywhere. Tellesa resisted the urge to look around, keeping her sight trained on the more immediate threat. She didn't dare move. Brom and Eragon seemed to have the same idea.

Until Eragon dismounted and approached the dragon. The reckless fool. Her hand darted for her packs, but Brom caught it in an iron grip. "No."

"But... look!" Tellesa hissed quietly. Those eyes were boring into her very soul.

"It's alright," Eragon called out. He reached out...

... and the dragon lowered its head so he could rub his hand along its snout. Tellesa froze stock still. "Wh-what's happening?" She asked hoarsely.

"You're looking at the first free dragon ever hatched since Vroengard's fall," Brom explained. "And the first free Rider."

"You mean..."

"Yes, I do." She had the suspicion that the storyteller was smiling. He let go of her arm and her horse, and raised his hand in greeting. "It's good to see you again."

" _And you too._ " That unknown voice replied. The dragon had raised its head at that exact moment too.

Tellesa, in that moment, reached some measure of understanding. "It can speak?!"

"Yes, _she_ can," Brom explained with a dry tone.

The dragon stepped forward. Eragon leapt out of the way as it strode over to the newest member of the band. Tellesa tightened her hold on the reins until her knuckles went white, unable to move any further. It only stopped when its head was right before her, turned to regard her with one large eye. Her blood ran ice-cold.

She didn't know whether to try to flee or fight. Despite the fear gripping her, she leaned more towards the latter; only the knowledge that neither of her companions seemed threatened by the dragon's presence prevented her from doing something reckless.

"... _You will do_." The dragon's voice was deep, though somewhat feminine, and it reverberated throughout Tellesa's head. Memories of discussions on telepathy with Ikharos sprang to mind. She could only hope that the defenses the Guardian laid were still in place.

She let out a shaky breath. Partial relief - for simply not being dead - seeped in and allowed her to loosen her grip. The pattern of the leather strap had imprinted on her palms. "A... dragon..."

The dragon snorted and backed off, then lowered itself for Eragon to climb atop its shoulders.

"I'll join you for lunch," the boy told them, glee in every word.

"Have a good time," Brom grunted, grasping for Cadoc's reins. The beast of myth took off in a single bound, buffeting them with wind displaced from its mighty wings. The old man turned to her with a wry look. "Come on. We'll talk on the move."

"I don't understand..." Tellesa muttered.

"I'll explain as well as I can."

**000**

There was so much information within easy reach, and yet he ignored every chance. All but one. He really, truly, wanted to return to the _Exodus Prime_ and drag out all he could from Taox. She might know of tactics and strategies vital to the war effort, the weaknesses of the Hive leaders, and even provide a new technological advantage in her recounted experiences of other long-dead civilizations. But she dealt with Ahamkara. And Ikharos couldn't allow himself to fall into that trap. He was the single Light on this world of Darkness. If his connection to the Traveler were twisted to the machinations of the Wish-Dragons, everyone on the planet would suffer. The Light, when used for selfish ends, was a terrible thing indeed.

* * *

_"CAN YOU IMAGINE THE UNIFIED WILL OF SIX ELITE GODSLAYERS ALL WISHING FOR A SINGLE THING WHICH WAS HER DESTRUCTION/PURIFICATION CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW SHE FEASTED UPON YOU!"_

* * *

He was a captive. There was no other way to put it. He was trapped here with the primitive descendants of a forgotten colony ship and whichever creatures of the Dark lurked about. Kepler-186f was a planet wide prison, and only he, of all humanity, was aware of it. Only he felt its effects.

It helped him visualize what Eris went through. What Praedyth had survived, is surviving, and will survive. The only difference was that the monsters hadn't found him yet. Though it was only a matter of time before more of those Shades felt something was off.

On the plus side, he had something to do in the meantime. A new topic of paracausality to research.

"Magic, properly known as gramarye, is the manipulation of energy." Formora's voice was clear and authoritative. She was an evident master of magic, and she intended to make her lessons comprehensible. Ikharos strived to do the same. Their mutual trade was beneficial to both; thus both sought to keep up their own end to reap the rewards. "It is directed by thoughts, concentrated through varying amounts of words in the Ancient Language, to manipulate the nature of the world. This energy can be stored within objects for later use, but it will leak out and dissipate from most. Rare and valuable gems are most efficient, and can be relied upon best of any material."

"Like the Eldunarí."

"Yes, like the Eldunarí," the elf reached over to the large jewel and lifted it up between them. "They are the purest of all stones, which may well be necessary to store the soul of the dragon."

"Engrams," Ikharos realized. "They're like Engrams. Pure crystals in which information can be efficiently stored. They're encoded with the patterns of armor, weaponry and other items. Even manuscripts. The crystal of Eldunarí must be similar in function, capable of storing information at a nanoscopic level, enough to contain the consciousness of an advanced living organism." He held out a hand. His Ghost, still unseen, dropped him a gold crystal nearly equal in size to that of the one Formora held, but with straight edges and sharp vertices. "This one holds the schematics for a pulse rifle. A weapon used by my people."

The elf's eyes twinkled with interest. She carefully put aside the Eldunarí and held out her hands. "May I?"

Ikharos gave it to her gingerly. Such Engrams were rare and greedily hoarded. It had taken him some time to find it, and only after he spent a fortune in purchasing salvage rights for 704 Interamnia. Formora inspected it closely. She was, thankfully, exceptionally careful with it.

"How was it made?" She asked, trailing a finger over one of the corners

Ikharos thought deeply about the answer. "I'm not exactly sure. The crystal is a result of Golden Age technology - far beyond what my people have access to now - though we recycle them when we've already used what information lies inside. They're resilient, so we don't have to worry about them degrading in the vaults."

"It is as you say," the elf muttered. "It is as pure as an Eldunarí. One might store centuries-worth of donated power." She handed it back. "You have the means to gather your strength."

"So now I just need words?"

"Yes."

"Are there any... dictionaries?" He ventured.

"No. Those would be weapons in the hands of mages."

That brought a smile to his face. "I like that."

Formora frowned. "What?"

"Books being weapons. I really, _really_ like that image."

**000**

" _Hold on_ _,_ " Saphira warned, and letting out a wild roar, she soared in one great leap. Eragon yelled with excitement as he flung his arms in the air, holding on with only his legs.

" _I didn't know I could stay on while you did that. Not without being strapped to the saddle,_ " he said, grinning fiercely.

" _Neither did I,_ " admitted Saphira, laughing in her peculiar way. Eragon hugged her tightly, and they flew a level path, masters of the sky. " _Tell me about her._ "

" _Who?_ "

" _Tellesa, of course._ "

" _Right._ " Eragon nodded. The wind whipped at the skin of his face, but he didn't mind it in the slightest. He belonged up here, above the rest of the world, where its troubles could not reach him. " _She's no friend of the empire._ "

" _Obviously,_ " Saphira snorted. " _What is she like?_ "

" _I don't know. I haven't talked with her all that much. She can fight, though I've never seen her, but she does carry a weapon. And she might know magic. I've heard she traveled with a wizard who was strong enough to kill a Shade, though I don't know whether to believe that._ "

Below him, the dragon hummed thoughtfully. " _If it_ is _true, then the wizard must be powerful indeed. For a human._ "

Eragon internally agreed. He'd never heard of anyone slaying a Shade and living to tell the tale. It frightened him to think that the empire could work with such dark creatures. Shades only existed to cause suffering, and for the Imperials to work alongside a monster… He shuddered to think of the implications.

" _Might she be a danger to us?_ "

" _I... don't know,_ " Eragon replied honestly. Tellesa was intense and dangerous, that much was clear. She appeared comfortable with a sword at her hip.

By noon his legs were sore from riding without a saddle, and his hands and face were numb from the cold air. Sapira's scales were always warm to the touch, but she could not keep him from getting chilled. When they landed for lunch, he buried his hands in his clothes and found a dry, sunny place to sit. Tellesa and Brom must have finished their talk, as the former was much more welcoming than earlier, though Eragon could still see signs of nervousness in her.

"Ah... hello, Saphira," she asked cautiously. The dragoness swung her head around to face her. Tellesa took a half-step back.

" _Greetings,_ " Saphira replied. The flick of her tail betrayed her own burning curiosity.

Eragon smiled and turned back to the food prepared for lunch. He helped himself to a serving of stew and sipped a spoonful. The flavour was unusually rich and exploded on his tastebuds. He almost gagged from surprise. Brom, sitting nearby, chuckled knowingly.

" _What is it?_ " Saphira asked, turning her head to regard the pot suspiciously.

Eragon shrugged and spoke aloud. "The food tastes odd."

"Oh!" Tellesa said suddenly. She gave a glance in his direction and shrugged one shoulder. "That. Yes, I put... actually, I don't know what it is. But it goes well with most foods, I've found. And only a pinch needs to be added to any meal to change it for the better."

"It is pleasant," Eragon praised. The taste was unique and seemed very exotic. "Where did you get it?"

"Ikharos - the wizard - left some of his supplies with me. He didn't need them where he was going."

"Oh? Where did he go?" Brom asked innocently. He looked to be enjoying the stew just as much as Eragon was.

"Vroengard. He wanted to learn about the Dragon Riders, after hearing your story."

Brom surged to his feet, lunch forgotten. "Vroengard?" He cried out.

"Yes," Tellesa answered. She appeared unsure of herself. "He bought a boat and set course for the island."

Brom shook his head violently. "Vroengard is too dangerous. There is a vile poison on the air, deadly to those unprepared!"

Tellesa didn't appear overly fazed by it. In fact, she seemed almost reassured. "Ikharos will be fine. He's... different. He will be prepared. I trust he will survive it."

Brom scowled. "I wouldn't be so certain. The island is a place of death. Nothing can live there without drawing a terrible sickness of the flesh."

* * *

" _Do you mind if I ride Cadoc?_ " Eragon had decided to question Brom further about his past.

" _No, but tell me what he says._ " He was not surprised that Saphira knew his plans. It was nearly impossible to hide anything from her when they were mentally linked. When they finished eating, she flew away as he joined Brom and Tellesa on the trail. After a time, Eragon slowed Cadoc and said, "I need to talk to you both." He first looked to the storyteller. "I wanted to do it when we first arrived in Teirm, but I decided to wait until now."

"About what?" Brom asked.

Eragon paused. "There's a lot going on that I don't understand. For instance, who are your 'friends', and why were you hiding in Carvahall? I trust you with my life - which is why I'm still traveling with you - but I need to know more about who you are and what you are doing. What did you steal in Gil'ead, and what is the _tuatha du orothrim_ that you're taking me through? I think that after all that's happened, I deserve an explanation."

"You've eavesdropped on Jeod and I."

"Only once."

Tellesa looked between the two of them, frowning. Her past was nearly as mysterious as the elder's, but, for some reason, Eragon expected that she would be more forthcoming with details. Or maybe not. Though she seemed a reliable ally to have - one Jeod had trusted with his life - she was just too unfamiliar for him to put his faith in her.

"I see you have yet to learn proper manners," said Brom grimly, tugging on his beard. "What makes you think that this concerns you?"

"Nothing, really." Eragon shrugged. "Just it's an odd coincidence that you happened to be hiding in Carvahall when I found Saphira's egg _and_ that you know so much dragonlore. The more I think about it, the less likely it seems. There were other clues that I mostly ignored, but they're obvious now that I look back. Like how you knew of the Ra'zac in the first place and why they ran away when you approached. And I can't help but wonder if you had something to do with the appearance of Saphira's egg. There's a lot you haven't told us, and Saphira and I can't afford to ignore anything that might be dangerous."

Lines appeared on Brom's forehead as he reined in Snowfire to a halt. "You won't wait?"

Eragon shook his head.

The elder sighed. "This wouldn't be a problem if you weren't so suspicious, but I suppose you wouldn't be worthy of my time if you were otherwise." He lit his pipe and blew a plume of smoke into the air. "I'll tell you, but you have to understand that I cannot reveal everything." Before Eragon could protest, he was cut off. "It's not out of desire to withhold information, but because I won't give away secrets that aren't mine. There are other stories woven in with this narrative. You'll have to talk with the others involved to find out the rest."

"Very well. Explain what you can."

"Are you sure? There are reasons for my secretiveness. I've tried to protect you by shielding you from forces that would tear you apart. Once you know of them and their purposes, you'll never have the chance to live quietly. You will have to choose sides and make a stand. Do you really want to know?"

"I cannot live my life in ignorance."

"You might wish to," Tellesa warned suddenly. "There are things out in the world you are better off not knowing."

"It's a worthy goal, regardless," Brom took a deep breath. "Very well. There is a war raging in Alagaësia between the Varden and the empire. Their conflict, however, reaches far beyond any incidental armed clashes. They are locked in a titanic power struggle... centered around you."

"Me?" Eragon asked, disbelief etched across his face. "That's impossible. I don't have anything to do with either of them."

"Not yet, but your very existence is the focus of their battles. The Varden and the empire aren't fighting to control this land or its people. Their goal is to control the next generation of Riders, of whom you are the first. Whoever controls these Riders will become the undisputed master of Alagaësia."

Eragon tried to absorb the bold statements. It seemed incomprehensible that so many people would be interested in him and Saphira. No one besides Brom had thought he was that important. The whole concept of the empire and Varden fighting over him was too abstract for him to grasp fully. "But all the Riders were killed except for the Forsworn, who joined Galbatorix. As far as I know, even those are now dead. And you told me in Carvahall that no one knows if there are still dragons in Alagaësia."

"I lied about the dragons," Brom told him flatly. "Even though the Riders are gone, there are still at least three dragon eggs left - all of them in Galbatorix's possession. Actually there are only two now, since Saphira hatched. The king salvaged the three during his last battle with the Riders."

"So there may soon be two new Riders, both of them loyal to the king?" Eragon asked, fear sinking in.

"Exactly," Brom confirmed. "There is a deadly race in progress. Galbatorix is desperately trying to find the people for whom his eggs will hatch, while the Varden are employing every means to kill his candidates or steal the eggs."

"But where did Saphira's egg come from? How could anyone have gotten it away from the king? And why do you know all of this?"

"So many questions," Brom said humourlessly. "There is another chapter to all this, one that took place long before either of you were born. Back then I was a bit younger, though perhaps not as wise. I hated the empire - for reasons I'll keep to myself - and wanted to damage it in any way I could. My fervor led me to a scholar, Jeod, who claimed to have discovered a book that showed a secret passageway into Galbatorix's castle. I eagerly brought Jeod to the Varden - who are my 'friends' - and they arranged to have the eggs stolen."

 _The Varden!_ Eragon stifled a gasp. He glanced over to Tellesa, yet she didn't seem near as surprised. Intrigued, yes, but not shocked by the revelation that Brom was a rebel.

The elder continued. "However, something went amiss, and our thief got only one egg. For some reason he fled with it and didn't return to the Varden. When he wasn't found, Jeod and I were sent to bring him and the egg back. That was the start of one of the greatest searches in history. We raced against the Ra'zac and Morzan, last of the Forsworn and the king's finest servant. Most loyal too..."

"Morzan! He was the one who betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix!" _And that happened so long ago! Morzan must have been ancient!_ It only served to once more remind him of the disturbingly long lifespans of Riders. A similar fate that awaited him.

"So?" Brom asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, he was old, but strong and cruel. He was one of the king's first followers and by far his most devoted. As there had been blood between us before, the hunt for the egg turned into a personal battle. When it was located in Gil'ead, I rushed there and fought Morzan for possession. It was a terrible contest, but in the end I slew him. During the conflict I was separated from Jeod. There was no time to search for him, so I took the egg and bore it to the Varden, who asked me to train whomever became the new Rider. I agreed and decided to hide in Carvahall - which I had been to several times before - until the Varden contacted me. I was never summoned."

"Then how did Saphira's egg appear in the Spine? Was another one stolen from the king?"

The old man grunted. "Small chance of that. He has the remaining two guarded so thoroughly that it would be suicide to try and steal them. No, Saphira was taken from the Varden, and I think I know how. To protect the egg, its guardian must have tried to send it to me with magic. The Varden haven't contacted me to explain how they lost the egg, so I suspect that their runners were intercepted by the empire and the Ra'zac were sent in their place. I'm sure they were quite eager to find me, as I've managed to foil many of their plans."

"Then the Ra'zac didn't know about me when they arrived in Carvahall..." Eragon muttered.

"That's right. If that ass Sloan had kept his mouth shut, they might now have found out about you. Events could have turned out quite differently. In a way I have you to thank for my life. If the Ra'zac hadn't become so preoccupied with you, they might have caught me unawares, and that would have been the end of Brom the storyteller. The only reason they ran was because I'm stronger than the two of them, especially during the day. They must have planned to drug me during the night, then question me about the egg."

"You sent a message to the Varden, telling them about me?"

"Yes, I'm sure they'll want me to bring you to them as soon as possible."

"But you're not going to, are you?"

Brom shook his head. "No, I'm not."

"Is that safe?" Asked Tellesa. She had been very quiet previously.

The storyteller snorted and smiled. "The Varden are dangerous people. If we go to them, you will be entangled in their politics and machinations. Their leaders may send you on missions just to make a point, even though you might not be strong enough for them. I want you to be well prepared before you go anywhere near the Varden. At least while we pursue the Ra'zac, I don't have to worry about someone poisoning your water. This is the lesser of two evils. And it keeps you happy while I train you. _Tuatha du orothrim_ is just a stage in your instruction. I _will_ help you find - and perhaps even kill - the Ra'zac, for they are as much my enemies as yours. But then you will have to make a choice."

"And that would be..?" Eragon asked warily.

"Whether to join the Varden. If you kill the Ra'zac, the only way for you to escape Galbartorix's wrath will be to seek the Varden's protection, flee to Surda, or plead for the king's mercy and join his forces. Even if you don't kill the Ra'zac, you will face this choice eventually."

Eragon knew the best way to gain sanctuary might be to join the Varden, but he did not want to spend his entire life fighting the empire like they did. He mulled over Brom's comments, trying to consider them from every angle. "You still didn't didn't explain how you know so much about dragons."

"No, I didn't, did I? That will have to wait for another time."

 _Why me?_ Eragon asked himself. What made him so special that he should become a Rider? "Did you ever meet my mother?"

Brom looked grave. "Yes, I did."

"What was she like?"

The old man huffed. "She was full of dignity and pride, like Garrow. Ultimately it was her downfall, but it was one of her greatest gifts nevertheless... She helped the poor and less fortunate, no matter what her situation."

"You knew her well?" Eragon asked, startled.

"Well enough to miss her when she was gone."

Tellesa sent her horse plodding along. With some reluctance, Eragon followed suit. He tried to recall when he had thought that Brom was just a scruffy old man who told stories. For the first time, Eragon understood how ignorant he had been.

"Wait!" He called out. Both other riders glanced at him, but his eyes were only for Tellesa. "What about you? Where do you fit in all this?"

"I'm a rebel," she said, as casually as if she were stating the weather. "Perhaps not part of the Varden proper, but I was always engaged with and supportive of the movement. Recent events have... persuaded me to take a more active stance. By all means, I should be dead along with everyone else I knew. The empire took everything from me. Killed my parents, enslaved my people, stamped out the beliefs my people held in high regard. They employed a Shade, who in turn burned down my home and killed my brother. I'm not here for any other reason than vengeance, just like you. You want to kill the Ra'zac. I want to hurt the empire, as they hurt me." Her eyes hardened. "I want to make the king suffer. By taking down his agents, one by one, I'm foiling his efforts. And now, I'm to help you."

"Me?"

"And Saphira. If helping you both evade the king's grasp frustrates the bastard, then it's enough for me." She kicked her steed forward, leaving him with whirling thoughts.

As much as he desired revenge, Eragon doubted he would ever be able to summon that black rage which Tellesa basked in. He also knew then that he never wished to have her as a foe. He had thought himself determined; she was something else entirely. Her dedication to the downfall of her enemies was unusual and, dare he say, frightening.

**000**

_Scatter_ _._ That was the way of things. Always scatter when danger reared up. Kiphoris despised it, this behavior worthy of prey.

"Mine-crews, keep on me," he ordered. Three Skiffs followed his own ship, carrying his Vandals, Dregs and Servitors. The land below blurred past. They didn't dare slow, for the chance that the traitors still had their scent. He knew very well Krinok would do anything to see them dead as soon as he learned what Tarrhis had done. Or even before. The Ether-Thief was unhinged. Even more so now. For as long as both hatchling and free Baron lived, they would threaten his unworthy reign. Most of the House were mere followers, without the conviction to drive themselves to become anything more than Vandals or Marauders. The families wouldn't stretch out their necks if they had heirs to care for and protect. They would meekly go along with whomever held the title and banner. But as long as Valdas' heir lived, there would always be whispers of dissent. The Captain knew it well. After all, he had seen it in his old House, when the reigning Kell had been killed in ambush.

Kiphoris stepped out of the cabin and stalked into the larger passenger chamber of the Skiff. The seats were filled, and two Servitors hovered towards the back, but he ignored almost all those within. His attention was for the nobility in the hold. He stopped by Raksil and looked down on the Vandal with an unreadable expression. The son of the Baron, struck silent by the recent loss of his brother, looked up with silent suffering clear on his face. He still clenched the hatchling - the one with oh so very bright eyes - against his chest in the gentlest manner he could manage.

"So much death and suffering so something so small..." The Captain mused. His voice was blank and devoid of all the uselessness of emotion. His eyes always blinked in unison and never narrowed, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. For all of that they called him Kiphoris the Cold. Kiphoris the Broken. "What will it gift us? A reunited banner? Or death?"

"Captain?"

"We must scatter ourselves," he told his troops without turning to address them. "Tarrhis does not want them finding us easily. Better some are hunted down than all." He crouched down. "Show me the young one, the cause of so much strife."

Raksil only did so because he was Captain. Despite all Kiphoris had done in service to his new House, the lengths he had gone to prove himself as a new Scar, they still held onto ancestral wariness of the newcomer in their ranks. He didn't begrudge them that. Virixas had not been a friend to many.

The young one was upset. It was taken from its usual surroundings and couldn't hear the chittering of its siblings. It looked up into the eyes of the Captain fearfully, but Kiphoris handled it with familiar care. Its chitin was still translucent from recent hatching, its fingers had not yet developed the sharp claws they all had, and its teeth were tiny needles, miniscule in comparison to the larger Eliksni's fangs. However, its hair had begun to sprout as tiny bristles, bright red flecked with spots of gold. A clear indicator of its pure-blooded heritage.

"You are small, eh, _kelekh_ _?_ " Kiphoris murmured. It fit perfectly in his hand. He made to caress its head, but it captured his finger in its weak grip. He did not resist as it brought the digit close enough to bite down on. The captain, amused, allowed it to play for a few more moments, then handed it back to the Vandal. "A great warrior, that I can tell. What will it be named?"

Raksil seemed lost for words. He was a sorry sight, with the ether-tear stains and the dimmed eyes. "Named?"

" _Eia_ _._ Valdas is dead. No family left to name it. Must be named something other than Kell. Falls to you, Raksil-Devoted."

"... Mezha," Raksil breathed softly. He looked down onto the hatchling with such care that Kiphoris knew a bond was being formed. "Like the Warrior of the Great Machine."

"Elder Days," Raksil's neighbour, a Dreg-turned-Marauder whose lower arms were nearly regrown, remarked. He clicked in appreciation. "A good name."

"It is," the Baron's son replied. "Mezha-kel."

Kiphoris retreated back to the front cabin without another word. The pilots - Splicers both - shivered their mandibles happily. The weather had turned rough quite recently. The static interfered with their navigation systems, but they saw that as a good omen. It would be even more difficult for the usurpers to find them in this mess.

* * *

They landed when the local star climbed its way into the middle of the pale blue sky. The Skiffs descended close by one another, arrayed in a rough circle to better defend those disembarking.

Marauders and Vandals climbed out first and raced towards the edge of the forest clearing to secure a perimeter. Next came the Splicers and the Servitors, guarded by a large group of Dregs. Raksil and Kiphoris stayed by the protection offered by the ship as the machines began the Ether distribution.

The younger Eliksni - many of whom had never seen another world so full oflife - began inspecting the closest of the natural growths. Three surrounded a tree and cautiously began inspecting every leaf with the ends of their claws, jumping back every moment the wind ruffled the branches. Even the grass upon which they walked was treated with a keen nervousness. The Captain scoffed. He was fortunate to have lived long enough to see a dozen worlds like this one. In every instance the colours and shapes differed, but the plants were always the same; brainless and of little more importance than the useless rocks upon which they grew. All they did was provide cover from prying eyes and that was it. Kiphoris was not impressed with the variety around him. In fact, it looked remarkably similar to a handful of alien habitats he had been treated to in the past. Those had been the days...

"Captain!" A Vandal called excitedly. "Come look!"

Kiphoris strode over and inspected what the warrior had found. A leafless bush with abnormal red growths upon the ends of its branches. The Captain paused. He had certainly seen its like before.

"What is it?" The Scar beside him asked eagerly.

The larger Eliksni did not answer in words; he grasped one of the red berries and tugged it off. It squashed beneath his claws and leaked a viscous juice that stuck his digits together. In one swift movement, he threw it back into his jaws and rolled it around, biting down to get to the sweeter core. It tasted just like he remembered.

"Food," he reported. The Vandal threw caution to the wind and set aside his rifle to gather as much of the berries as he could. Kiphoris, troubled, left him to it. He would settle for Ether. It gave him less distressing thoughts.

**000**

The night had almost fallen upon them when they stopped for supper. Tellesa was more than satisfied with their progress; because of the horses they would reach the pass within another day or two.

The novelty of traveling with a dragon had not yet worn off. Even the smallest of movements from Saphira stole Tellesa's attention, which in turn caused Brom to huff and take on the task of preparing the dinner on his lonesome. She had never seen anything quite like the creature of myth. The startling intelligence of Saphira was cause for even more muted awe. The old stories didn't pay the dragons half the credit they were due.

Tellesa settled by the tiny fire and watched as the elder prepared the dried meats and vegetables. It wasn't ideal, but it was the only type of food that could last the journey. Eragon had wandered off to find water, leaving them to relax their tired muscles in the small dell. She had only reached into her pack for a book loaned to her by Jeod when Saphira - who had been lying down with her eyes half-lidded - reared up swiftly. The dragon gave a series of growls and looked around.

"What's wrong?" Brom asked.

She didn't answer. Then, before either could react, Saphira pounced. Tellesa fell back with a cry as the dragon's claws snagged her leg and pulled her closer, doing the same with Brom. The old man cursed quietly and tried to grasp Saphira's attention, but she only held them close, and folded her wings in front of her and around them.

Despite their urgent demands to know what the matter was, the dragon ignored them. Their answer only came when the dragon shifted and they heard Eragon's voice before them.

"Stop. It's me!"

" _Oops._ "

"Oops? You could have killed me! Where's Brom and Tellesa?"

"We're right here," the disgruntled storyteller snapped. "Tell your crazy dragon to release us; she won't listen to me."

"Let them go!" Eragon said, exasperated. "Didn't you tell them?"

" _No_ _,_ " Saphira lifted her wings. Tellesa stumbled away and looked back warily. " _You just said to keep them safe._ "

The Rider didn't argue any further and turned to Brom. "I found an Urgal footprint. And it's fresh."

Tellesa wasted no time in bolting to her bags and grabbing the rifle. As she searched for the spare magazines she had for just in case, Brom spouted orders with a professional air. "Saddle the horses. We're leaving."

Then, "What's wrong with your arm?"

"My wrist is broken," Eragon answered.

"Damn!" Brom saddled Cadoc for him. By then Tellesa had her rifle at the ready, fully loaded. Her fingers had threatened to slip as she inserted the ammunition, but muscle memory had served her well. The storyteller pointed to her and barked, "Get your horse."

"On it," she replied, rapidly packed her bag and kicked dirt over the fire, then sprinted to her steed. The mare flicked its ears nervously as she mounted up.

"It's almost dark; you might as well fly right overhead," Brom told Saphira. "If Urgals show up, they'll think twice about attacking with you nearby."

" _They'd better, or else they won't think again,_ " the dragon remarked, as she took off with one colossal flap of her wings. The horse riders set off seconds later.

The light disappeared and the horses slowed with exhaustion, but the riders kicked them onwards regardless. A mile or so from the camp, Brom called a halt.

"Listen," he whispered.

Only a mere moment later, the call of a hunting horn pierced the air far behind them. She knew that sound. It had haunted her nights for months on end. Tellesa's eyes narrowed and her grip on the foreign weapon tightened. Bastards, she thought darkly.

"They must have found where we were," Brom noted. "And probably Saphira's tracks. They will chase us now. It's not in their nature to let prey escape."

Another two horns bellowed. They were somewhat closer. The Urgals had their scent.

"We need to run," the elder instructed. He turned his attention to Eragon. "Call down Saphira."

The dragon rushed down from the sky to their side and landed with a thud.

"Leave Cadoc," Brom commanded of the Rider. "Go with her. You'll be safer."

"Wait," Tellesa said. She looked directly at Saphira. "If it's a small band, we can take them."

"No we can't!" Brom interjected.

"Well, _I_ can." Tellesa met his glare readily. "I just need to know how many there are."

"No. It only takes one to kill!"

"They'll never reach us. Not if I use this." She patted the rifle.

The elder didn't even wait a second to retort. He didn't know what it could do. "No. We need to move." He snapped to the others to take off, and they did so with reluctance. Tellesa gritted her teeth and glanced back the way they had come with longing. In her mind, it would be so easy. It wouldn't even take much more than a moment or two.

With a huff, she dismounted, walked back five paces, and knelt on one knee.

"What are you _doing?!_ " Brom hissed in a panicked tone. "Let's go!"

"Wait..." Tellesa stared down the Tigerspite's sights. The feel of the strange weapon had become as familiar as that of her blade. She remembered, with some fondness, the sessions in the Spine late at night. She knew how to operate it with efficiency and how to distinguish targets in the eerie halflight of dusk.

She could hear them now, the cries of Urgals and the thumping of horse hooves on hard earth. A fourth horn bellowed out.

"You fool!" Brom called out. "We need to go _now!_ "

Movement. She swiveled the barrel around and let loose in a concentrated burst. Both the animal and rider dropped like stones. It only took a pull of the trigger to snuff out two lives. Tellesa didn't care much. The Urgals were worth far less than any other lifeform in the world, as far as she was concerned. The bullets could almost be considered a waste, if the lives of herself and Brom weren't at stake.

She fired off three more bursts. The sudden loss of their comrades and the obstacles posed by the corpses proved the ample opportunity to make her escape. She jumped onto the saddle and sent her horse into a gallop. Brom was close behind, with the other two animals.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" He demanded, eyes wild with fright.

"A weapon!" Tellesa responded, her own tone just as sharp.

* * *

It was a small sound - a distant crash of trees snapping - but it gave the two pause. They slowed their tired horses and turned around, worry etched onto their faces. Tellesa debated with herself on whether to go back or not when Saphira returned with bloodied claws and red-stained teeth, the limp form of Eragon clasped in paws. The dragon landed awkwardly, always careful of the Rider she carried. Brom dismounted and ran forward to catch the boy before he fell to the ground.

"What happened?" Tellesa asked. The only thing to alleviate her fear of the worst was the steady rise and fall of the Rider's chest. She couldn't see any obvious wound, but that didn't mean he wasn't critically injured.

" _He used magic!_ " The dragon cried out. Brom cursed and dragged him onto the grass.

"Get my bag!" The elder told Tellesa. Then, to Saphira, "You need to lead them away, or we'll be at their mercy."

The dragon bounded away. Tellesa fetched the packs and raced over to the Brom's side. "Will he be alright?"

"I don't know!" The storyteller fumed. "Foolish children..."

"I didn't mess up!"She defended hotly.

"You took a risk!" He snapped back.

"It worked!"

"What if it hadn't?!"

"Then I would be dead. Not you, Eragon or Saphira. Just me."

"And that's the problem." Brom's voice lowered to a growl. He gestured to the prone Rider. "He needs a damp cloth."

Tellesa procured a rag and soaked it with water from her flask. Brom took it and gently wiped the filth from Eragon's face.

"What next?" She asked.

"We need to splint that arm and get some food going. He'll certainly need it." The old man sighed. "This is a dangerous quest we've undertaken. As, I expect, you have just discovered. I'd prefer to keep others out of our matters, but Jeod reassured me you are reliable. And... I need someone else to watch him. And Saphira too." Brom sent her a pointed look. "They're young and foolish. If our fortunes take a turn, they need someone who knows what to do. What I don't need is another reckless child who thinks themself invincible."

"I hate Urgals," Tellesa retorted, though even she knew her argument was weak and childish.

"I don't blame you for that," the storyteller reassured her. "But there is more at stake than vengeance."

She sighed. "Fine. I'm... sorry."

"Just watch him."

**000**

"This symbolism is, perhaps, one of the most accurate metaphors for paracausality I've seen. At least in terms of Earthen culture and all its offspring." Ikharos sketched out the distinct shapes of three animals in the stone floor with his knife. Once he'd finished, he stepped back. "What are they?"

Formora peered down. "Shark... dolphin... and crab. The former two prey on the latter. And they fight one another, though it is not not an often occurence."

"Yes," the Warlock nodded. "The shark is a solitary predator. It rarely interacts with any of its own kind. On the occasions it does, it may even eat them. It is a cold and unforgiving beast. Is it unnatural?"

"No." Formora answered. "It is a living thing like any other."

"Right. The dolphin is different. It is a social creature. Friends, family, even total strangers; it gets along with them. It avoids conflicts with its own and they work together. Is this unnatural?"

Formora looked at him like he was an idiot. "No."

"They're both still alive. Sharks have survived because what they have evolved into just works. Dolphins have survived because what they have evolved into just works. Right now, at this moment, both sharks and dolphins are alive and well. They're thriving." He could see her frustration becoming more and more clear. "The shark is solitary and selfish and domineering. It is the Dark. The dolphin is social and is selfless and cooperative. It is the Light. Are they the only animals in the ocean?"

He noticed the moment understanding dawned on her. Teaching was all about finding that flicker of comprehension. He loved it. "No. There is far more than that."

"Sharks and dolphins are two of the most successful organisms to ever swim in seas, as far as humanity knows. That said, there's a whole myriad of other lifeforms in the water. The same goes for paracausality. The Dark is the Deep, where the shark reigns supreme. The Light is the shallows and the surface where the dolphins can bask in the Sky. There will always be Dark and Light, but there is so much more in between, or in either camp.  
"Let's talk about the crab. It scurries in the deep, drinking in nutrients from chemical vents. It hides in the reefs and the shores, feeding from whatever it can find. It is both Dark and Light and neither. That's what you can achieve."

The elf was not impressed. "Crabs are not known for power."

Ikharos smiled thinly. "I've seen crabs eating a Nïdhwal."

"This is not power," Formora told him sourly. Though she listened and understood what he said, her impatience was palpable. "This is a riddle."

"Better to begin with some idea where you stand. But if you're so intent, we'll move onto something else." He wracked his brain for a place to begin. "Alright… Simple telekinesis isn't overly difficult, on a small scale. It's only passingly useful, but in the right circumstances, it can be a weapon. The Techeuns of the Reef learn it at a young age, when they're still confined to their covens. They taught me during the time I lived with their people." He held out his hand and balanced the knife on the edge of his mind. It floated in place when he retracted his arm, and even began to rotate ever so slowly as if twirled on an axle. "This is just the beginning. I may not be able to mirror what a Flayer can do, but the abilities of the Psions are not confined to them alone. They're just adept at utilising the power of their mnds. They use pure intention to attack in elemental form. It will take some time - for both of us. I know how they fight, how they think, but I've never had reason to exercise the method myself."

* * *

They worked together for another day. Neither needed - or, for that matter, desired - sleep. They both absorbed every skill they could, forgoing any threats or pretensions of manners. Each minute, each second, was used to pass on and receive valuable information and useful skills.

Ikharos would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy it. One of the few things he found gave meaning to his eternal life was teaching. He would never be happier than sitting down to kindly educate the next generation of Guardians, or even normal humans. It brought him a calm he rarely felt elsewhere, a place he felt was devoid of all the violent realities that otherwise plagued his days and nights. He was born - or reborn as some would put it - to be a teacher. It was a pity that circumstances required him to be a soldier first and foremost.

When they finally decided to take a break, the desolate building was… altered, to say the least. The walls were either broken, overgrown with vines shaped into diamond formations, or turned into a wide array of colours. There was a splash of Arc burns on most surfaces to boot. Formora's mind was initially clumsy in its attempts to use intention rather than willpower or focus.

The rains had thankfully stopped by the time they stepped out. Formora warily looked about as she walked out into the street, then glanced back at him. "There's shelter to the north."

Ikharos wordlessly followed.

The aforementioned shelter was far from impressive on the outside. In truth, Ikharos had expected them to walk past the collapsed tower, not enter it. The entrance was covered by a slab of smooth-cut stone from prying eyes and the path in was laden with rough beaten earth. The inside consisted of what had once been the ground floor of the tower, buried beneath the bulk of the broken structure. The pillars had held firm and kept it standing.

Two worn cots were shoved away on the far side. A few old packs, falling apart at the seams, laid beside them, filled with an assortment of baubles. What caught his attention was the collection of more than a dozen swords carefully laid against the wall, each differing in design and colour. They were like the swords wielded by Formora and Enduriel. The weapons were basic in function, but they were so exotic and unusual. Ikharos was quickly fascinated with them.

He walked by the weapons rack and inspected each of them individually. He picked up one, a slim longsword with a purple blade with a one-and-a-half-handed silver-scaled grip . An amethyst was built into the pommel, and the silvered guard had the shape of a crescent moon. It weighed next to nothing in his hands, though he could feel the potential as he lazily lifted it in one hand.

"That's not yours," Fomora told him sternly, snatching it off him by grabbing the flat of the blade. He didn't fight for it. She delicately returned it to its place with the others.

Ikharos shrugged and strolled away while she rummaged around her packs. On the other side, by her belongings, something else caught his attention. It was a tablet of smooth slate, upon which colours were arrayed in order to depict a stunning scene. At first he thought it a painting, but a closer look revealed it to be in far greater detail than he could have imagined possible. It seemed so _real._ "What is this?" He asked.

Formora looked over for a quick moment. "Cirrane. The place of my birth. It was an elven settlement on the edge of Du Weldenvarden. I grew up there. Until…" She trailed off, then exhaled. "Until the Riders arrived."

Ikharos frowned. "Attacked?"

"No." Formora stood and tossed him an apple. He caught it and looked it over for mutations. "It's safe," the elf assured him. "I've warded the food."

The Warlock inwardly shrugged and bit a chunk out of it. The fruit was bursting with flavour. "Not attacked, then. What did they do?"

"They brought eggs and the children lined up to touch them. The dragons would hatch for those chosen to be their Rider."

"And you were?"

She nodded. "I was. It was the greatest moment of my life. I moved to Ilirea, where I was instructed in the matters of magic, law and literature as part of a programme."

"Ilirea?"

"Urû'baen. Combat skills came some time after that, when I reached Vroengard." Formora paused. "What of you?"

"What about me?"

"Where are you from?"

"Ah. I was raised in the city of London a few decades after the Collapse that left it shattered. The final nail in its coffin was hammered in when the Eliksni House of Devils razed it the very day I came into being and slaughtered everyone within. I rarely stayed in one place after that, but I carved my own territory somewhere between what used to be the nations of Germany and Austria after a few decades of wandering." He paused. "When the Last City of Earth recovered from the Battle of Six Fronts - fought by Devils and orchestrated by Kings - I brought my people there for the promise of safe sanctuary. I lived there up until a few years ago. More recently, I've spent time amongst the Awoken in the Belt."

"Who are the Awoken?" The elf asked. "And the Eliksni?"

Ikharos smiled and sat down. "The matter of the Awoken's origins is a question no one has been able to concretely answer, not even they. They're formerly human, but they've become far more after the Collapse. They forged a new culture for themselves and survived out in the lifeless Asteroid Belt for centuries. Eliksni, on the other hand, I know very well. They're a nomadic race with a chitin exoskeleton, four arms and four eyes. They can grow larger based on how much sustenance they intake. I've known some to grow twice, nearly three times, the size of a man. Even the smallest of them, the Dregs, are larger, stronger, and faster than humans. They're a hardy and vicious people, driven to extremes by the threat of extinction."

She gave him an odd look. "Your homeland sounds so very strange."

"Oh, it is. It very much is."

**000**

The babbling of the prisoners meant nothing to him. The screams, though, that he understood.

The natives had been forced into a huddle on the far side of the camp, two Flayers hovering on opposite sides of the rough circle. Even some distance away, Zhonoch could feel the pressure of the two tremendously forceful minds at work. He winced as one of the prisoners fell, red blood leaking from its ears.

"Unpleasant and brutish," Orche remarked. His brother, Cadon, none-so-gently told him to shut up.

Their Primus signaled a stop. The Flayers floated back down and backed away. Tlac, stronger of the two, faced the commander and saluted. "They know nothing. There are no communication nodes because they haven't invented them."

"WASTE OF AIR!" Da'aurc growled. "WHAT ELSE?!"

"We've grasped their language and will upload it to the Battlenet shortly. There's a larger settlement due east, fifty chrens off our position." Tlac's single eye flashed with a bluish light. "It's little more than a basic hovel of a city, but a city nonetheless. Only a handful of our captives have ever seen it. It looks just as backwards as the hamlet. Nothing more than a cobblestone wall and basic metal spears to defend it."

The Primus laughed. "THEN WE WILL DOMINATE IT ALL!"

Val Brutis bared her teeth. Females allowed their tusks to grow in preparation for the Tusking Challenges, yet most filed them down afterwards. It was the norm for those enlisted in the legions. However, the Val was one of the few who disregarded that and bared them proudly, despite the difficulty it put on her to find modified armour to accommodate the tusks. "We hold a stronger position here, sir. We haven't even finished the salvage operations."

"WE WILL HOLD BOTH! WE HAVE EVERY ADVANTAGE!"

"But... Of course, Primus," she dropped her eyes in deference. "I'll gather the troops."

* * *

Once the last of the prisoners were executed, and their remains tossed to the hungry hounds, Zhonoch found the other few surviving Soulrazers and raided the supply tent. The quartermaster reluctantly handed over a crate of cheap wine in exchange for a handful of marks. The drink was rancid and weak, but it was all they had other than water, so they suffered it with relish.

They stamped and kicked away the melting snow to make enough room, then played around with dice. No stakes this time. Tlac watched from Zhonoch's side. Orche had excused himself to fix up the local Battlenet. However, Cadon was on a winning streak. Zhonoch would have thought that his brother was using his mind to influence each roll but for how utterly exhausted Tlac appeared. The ex-gladiator threw a meaty arm around the Psion's shoulder; he didn't like seeing his partner in this state.

"They're called humans," said the Flayer all of a sudden.

The soldier grunted. "The natives?"

"Yes."

"Fragile bunch."

"We've encountered them before..." When the Vigilant gave him a confused glance, the Psion elaborated. "The empire did. Not Soulrazers."

"I've never heard of them before."

"I have. They're from the Trappist system."

Zhonoch dropped his dice. The other Soulrazers paused their game to listen in. "You mean those responsible for shattering the Red Legion? For killing the Dominus?"

"It doesn't make sense, I know. Just..." The Flayer placed a gentle touch against the heavy arm of the Vigilant, over the reinforced cloth and heavy plate. Even after so long working together, such gestures between them were uncommon. "Be careful. There's more to these creatures than we know. They're dangerous."

Zhonoch didn't appreciate how ominous those words were. He brushed the warning off with a couple of jokes that set the others laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Welp. This is a bit of a project now. I'm taking liberties with Eliksni and Cabal culture because as much as I love Destiny lore, it's a bit too vague on the culture of the alien races for my liking.


	19. Peaks of Sorrow I

_He saw two warriors engaged in fierce battle, crossing blades again and again far too quickly to keep count of the strikes. Neither managed to so much as scratch the other, but it was very clear that one had the upper hand. The fighter was clad in ornate armour as white as snow held both a sword the colour of flame and a single-edged knife and pressed the advantage, forcing his opponent to gradually retreat across the cracked stone floor._

_The second warrior, clad in basic black leathers and cloth, gave a cry and lunged forward. The first sidestepped it without any trouble, despite the impressive speed of the blow, and disarmed his foe with a flourishing twist of his wrist._

**000**

Tellesa wiped the unconscious Rider's forehead when his fever spiked. She cared for the horses. She held the perimeter of the camp against all imaginary invaders and very real pests. She tended to the fire. She did all that needed doing and waited; for Eragon to awaken or for Brom and Saphira to return, she didn't know. Whichever happened first. She wasn't looking forward to the latter.

The elder had left soon after they had stabilized Eragon's condition and she remained with the short, clear instructions. _Keep him safe. Be safe. Don't take unnecessary risks._

She wasn't sure whether she should have been honoured that he trusted her with the Rider's life or insulted that he only saw a reckless child who heeded no warning. She felt it was both, which complicated her feelings on the matter. Mostly she felt irritated.

Tellesa passed the time sitting by an ancient fir tree with her rifle on her lap. She always had it fully loaded these days. Her fingers idly played with the safety. She had forced herself to familiarize every part of it. It was the tool of her trade, the means by which she made a living. The frightening prospect of taking lives had long since disappeared, just as the Guardian had said it would.

She bundled her green cloak around herself. Winter was soon to die off, but the cold persisted. She checked over the fire by Eragon's unmoving form and, satisfied it was well fed, settled down to keep watch a little longer.

* * *

Eragon awoke as dusk fell. Tellesa reluctantly left her spot as the youth bolted upright and glanced around. The fire was going steadily, heating up a pot full of stew. She had to admit, having the same meals again and again quickly lost its charm. If not for the spices to give the meals some measure of variety, she might have changed her mind about traveling.

"Easy," she told the Rider. He twirled around. His features were set in a grimace. She didn't envy him. "You've been asleep for some time."

"Where... where is Saphira?"

"With Brom," Tellesa answered cryptically. She figured the elder would want to be the one to tell him. He loved his scoldings. "They're busy."

"Are they alright?"

"Distressed, but otherwise perfectly fine. You're a different matter." She indicated his splint. Eragon, finally noticing it, frowned and cradled the arm against his chest. Tellesa poured out two bowls of steaming stew and handed one to the Rider. "Eat," she ordered.

He dutifully complied and wolfed it down ravenously. She barely touched her own. Tellesa didn't feel hungry enough to warrant a full meal.

"Where are the horses?" Eragon asked as soon as he finished.

Tellesa pointed behind them. "Over there. There's a small glade with grass, and they needed the chance to recover."

That seemed to spark something in the Rider. "The Urgals!"

"They won't trouble us."

"Are they..."

"Dead?" Tellesa shook her head. "It's not my place to tell you, but some lived. Brom's trying to track them down. Saphira's helping him."

Eragon nodded. "Oh."

"Are you alright?"

His face scrunched up. "I ache all over."

"You have been out of it for two full days. And, coupled with whatever you pulled before, its no wonder you're feeling the consequences. Just be thankful we were close enough to help."

Eragon dropped his head, shamefaced. "I'm sorry."

"Save it for Brom. He might yet kill us both."

* * *

The conversation died out and they were thrust into a sudden silence. Tellesa was content to return to her place by the tree and watch as the hours passed by. Eragon, though, had his own questions.

"What is that?" He motioned to the rifle. "You've been carrying it for some time now, but I don't know what it is."

Tellesa glanced down. "Tigerspite. It's a weapon, much like a crossbow, yet far superior. It fires small bolts of metal fast enough that they cannot be dodged. Most armour cannot ward it off. The accuracy is precise. With this, I could cut down an Urgal at three hundred paces in a moment. And it fires rapidly, allowing for multiple kills."

Eragon eyed it with worry. "It sounds terrible."

"It is," Tellesa agreed wholeheartedly. "Though I am rather attached to it. It takes time to master its functions, and it has saved my life."

"How does it fire? I see no bowstring."

"It uses a tiny explosion to force the bolts out of the barrel, hence the speed and power."

"I... don't understand," the Rider admitted.

Tellesa shrugged. "It's a complex system."

"Where did you obtain it?"

"It was a gift."

"A gift?" Eragon frowned. "From whom?"

"I've told you of Ikharos, correct? He gifted it to me."

"Is it not valuable?"

"He had no shortage of such weaponry." Tellesa held the rifle up into the light. The campfire glared back at her on the distorted reflection of the lustrous metal. The tusks of the rifle - two blunted blades - had been forged in a slight wavy fashion that bespoke of the smith's skill with metal working. It was a creation worthy of legends. "It's strange."

"What is?"

"Just... this." She waved her arm around. "My life. I've seen terrible things I can never unsee, no matter how much I desire it, but I've seen incredible things too. Dragons, alive and free. Foreign wizards arriving at our shores with their little spirits by their sides. Shades and Ra'zac working with the empire. Comets crossing the skies. And this, a weapon both stunningly beautiful and frighteningly dangerous, belonging to me alone. I would never have imagined any of this possible. Never. And yet, behold. All of it true."

Eragon nodded along. "It might be for the better."

"It doesn't feel like it," Tellesa argued. She closed her eyes. "I don't think the good outweighs the terrible. Not yet."

Eragon shifted, and once it was clear she was finished speaking, he resumed his questions. "What is Ikharos like?"

"Hm?" She opened one eye. "Ikharos?"

"Yes. Is he... a good person?"

"I should hope so!" Tellesa laughed. "He does whatever he thinks is in the best interests of the common people. He doesn't care for the nobility or their politics, he doesn't care for the twisted 'peace' the empire claims it keeps, and he doesn't care for the power of the king. He obeys nothing but his own morality. So yes, I think he's a good person. I wouldn't always agree with him, but I trust him to do the right thing. He has so far."

"Has he truly sailed to Vroengard? It's a long way to go alone."

Tellesa shrugged. "I don't know. He said he would, and he's no liar, so I expect he's there now."

**000**

As time dragged on, Eragon grew bored and started to explore the surrounding forest. When he became tired, he rested under another fir tree - as Tellesa was doing - and glumly stared at the water. His mind slowly turned to the instructions Brom gave him about scrying. _Maybe I can see where Saphira is. Brom said that scrying takes a lot of energy, but I'm stronger than he is. I think._ He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. In his mind, he formed a picture of Saphira, making it as lifelike as possible. It was more demanding a spell that he expected. Then he said, "Draumr kópa" and gazed at the water.

Its surface became completely flat, frozen by an invisible force. The reflections disappeared and water became clear. On it shimmered an image of Saphira. Her surroundings were pure white, but Eragon could see that she was flying. Brom sat on her back, beard streaming, sword across his knees.

Eragon tiredly let the image fade. _At least they're safe._ He gave himself a few minutes to recuperate, then leaned back over the water. _Roran, how are you?_ In his mind he saw his cousin clearly. Impulsively, he drew upon the magic and uttered the words.

The water grew still, then the image formed on its surface. Roran appeared, sitting on an invisible chair. Like Saphira, his surroundings were white. There were new lines on Roran's face - he looked more like Garrow than ever before. Eragon held the image in place as long as he could. _Is Roran in Therinsford? He's certainly nowhere I've been._

The strain of magic had brought beads of sweat to his forehead. He sighed and for a long time was content to just sit. Then an absurd notion struck him. _What if I tried to scry something I created with my imagination or saw in a dream?_ He smiled. _Perhaps I'd be shown what my own consciousness looks like._

It was too tempting an idea to pass by. He knelt by the water once again. What shall I look for? He considered a few things, but discarded them all when he remembered his dream about the woman in the cell.

After fixing the scene in his mind, he spoke the words and watched the water intently. He waited, but nothing happened. Disappointed, he was about to release the magic when inky blackness swirled across the water, covering the surface. The image of a long candle flickered in the darkness, brightening to illuminate a stone cell. The woman from his dream was curled up on a cot in one corner. She lifted her head, dark hair falling back, and stared directly at Eragon. He froze, the force of her gaze keeping him in place. Chills ran up his spine as their eyes locked. Then the woman trembled and collapsed limply.

The water cleared. Eragon rocked back on his heels, gasping. "This can't be?" _She shouldn't be real; I only dreamed about her! How could she know I was looking at her? And how could I have scryed into a dungeon I've never seen?_ He shook his head, wondering if any of his other dreams had been visions. He thought back to the odd dream he most recently experienced. It was so fantastical that even that could not be real. On a whim, he repeated it, a cold feeling growing in his gut.

The surroundings were white, just like the visions of Roran and Saphira, but at the centre of it all was the warrior in white. The second fighter stood beside him. They were unarmed and facing one direction, and seemed to be talking though Eragon could not hear the words.

"Are you alright?" A shadow fell over him. Eragon lost concentration, and the water returned to normal. Tellesa looked down on him with concern. She knelt down beside him and pressed a hand against his forehead. "Your fever is back."

"No," he shook his head. "It's not that."

"Then what is it?" She asked, a touch more sharply than before.

The rhythmic thump of Saphira's wings interrupted them. Eragon stood and walked back to the centre of the camp, arriving just as Saphira landed. Brom was on her back, as Eragon had seen, but his sword was now blackened with Urgal blood. Brom's face was contorted; the edges of his beard were stained with blood.

"What happened?" Eragon asked cautiously, afraid that the storyteller had been wounded.

"What happened?!" Roared the old man. "I've been trying to clean up your mess!" He slashed the air with the sword, flinging droplets along its arc. "Do you know what you did with that little trick of yours?! Do you?!"

"I stopped the Urgals from catching you," Eragon replied, a pit forming in his stomach.

"Yes," Brom growled, "but that piece of magic nearly killed you! You've been sleeping for two days. There were nine Urgals. _Nine!_ But that didn't stop you from trying to throw them all the way to Teirm, now did it? What were you thinking?! Sending a rock through each of their heads would have been the smart thing to do. But no, you had to knock them unconscious so they could run away later. I've spent the last two days trying to track them down. Even with Saphira, three escaped!"

"I didn't want to kill them," Eragon said, feeling very small.

"Never leave an Urgal alive," Tellesa added.

Brom twirled on her. "You're no better! You risked our necks for nothing!"

"I killed three!"

"So this is about glory?!"

"It's about killing them so we live!" Tellesa barked back. "Every Urgal walking is a death sentence to an innocent farmer!"

Eragon winced. Even his hatred of the horned beasts couldn't compare. "But that's so... extreme."

Brom switched targets once more. "Extreme!" He cried out. "It's not extreme when they wouldn't show you the same mercy. And why, oh why, did you show yourself to them?"

"You said that they had found Saphira's footprints. It didn't make any difference if they saw me," Eragon defended.

Brom stabbed his sword into the dirt and snapped, "I said they had probably found her tracks. We didn't know for certain. They might have believed they were chasing some stray travelers. But why would they think that now? After all, _you landed right in front of them!_ And since you let them live, they're scrambling around the countryside with all sorts of fantastic tales! This might even get back to the empire!" He threw his hands up. "You don't even deserve to be called a Rider after this, _boy._ " Brom yanked his sword out of the ground and stomped to the fire. He took a rag from inside his robe and angrily began to clean the blade.

"Dammit!" Tellesa swore. She returned to her spot by the tree, muttering dark things under her breath.

Eragon was stunned. He tried to ask Saphira for advice, but all she would say was, " _Speak with_ _Brom._ " The dragon lumbered over to the fourth member of their band and settled beside her. Tellesa gave no indication of noticing, fidgeting with a part of her unusual weapon.

Hesitantly, Eragon made his way to the fire and asked, "Would it help if I said I was sorry?"

Brom sighed and sheathed his blade. "No, it wouldn't. Your feelings can't change what happened." He jabbed a finger at Eragon's chest. "You made some very bad choices that could have dangerous repercussions. Not the least of which is that you almost died. Died, Eragon! From now on you're going to have to think. There's a reason we're born with brains in our head, not rocks."

Eragon nodded, abashed. "It's not as bad as you think, though; the Urgals already knew about me. They had orders to capture me."

Astonishment widened Brom's eyes. He stuck his unlit pipe in his mouth. "No, it's not as bad as I thought. It's worse! Saphira told me you had a talk with the Urgals, but she didn't mention this."

The words tumbled out of Eragon's mouth as he quickly described the confrontation.

"So, they have some leader now, eh?" Brom questioned. Eragon nodded. "And you just defied his wishes, insulted him, and attacked his men?" The old man shook his head. "I didn't think this could get any worse. If the Urgals had been killed, your rudeness would have gone unnoticed, but now it'll be impossible to ignore. Congratulations, you just made enemies with one of the most powerful beings in Alagaësia."

"Alright, I made a mistake," Eragon sullenly said.

"Yes, you did," Brom confirmed. "What has me worried, however, is who this Urgal leader is."

Shivering, Eragon asked softly. "What happens now?"

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Your arm is going to take at least a couple of weeks to heal. That time would be well spent forging some sense into you. I suppose this is partially my fault. I've been teaching you how to do things, but not whether you _should_. It takes discretion, something you obviously lack. All the magic in Alagaësia won't help you if you don't know when to use it."

"But we're still going to Dras-Leona, right?"

Brom rolled his eyes. "Yes, we can keep looking for the Ra'zac, but even if we find them, it won't do any good until you've healed." The storyteller sighed. "Before that, I need to wring answers out of that girl. I suspect it will be difficult. When provoked, Kuastans can be as prideful as dragons."

Eragon followed his gaze. Tellesa was pointedly ignoring them, talking to Saphira in a hushed tone. "The object she's holding is a weapon. I don't think it wise to approach her now."

"I know. I've seen her use it." Brom grimaced. "Never seen anything like it. Blasted dangerous is what it is." The old man flashed him a quick grin. "You might have some sense after all."

**000**

Raksil was a patient Scar, but this hatchling tested his limits. It pulled at his armour, tried to bite off any fingers in range, and raised a racket when it thirsted for Ether. If this was the burden that the mothers bore at every hatching, no wonder they were so stern. It explained why they lusted after warfare so keenly.

More than anything he wished Utak were here. It hurt his hearts to think about the slaughter in the nursery. He had watched as Utak bravely stepped forward to defend the litter. And Krinok coldly cut him down. Raksil closed his four eyes and snapped his fangs together with displeasure. He had been a coward then. Worthless. The kind of scum that followed the Ether-Thief to betrayal and back. He cursed himself. Devoted? Hah, no, he was Raksil the Spineless.

Someone shook his shoulder. Raksil opened his mouth to snarl obscenities at the troublesome Dreg, but instead found himself speechless. His Captain, Kiphoris, stared back without any feeling.

"Do you have your token, Raksil?" The Captain asked, his voice tinted with the gruff lilt of the Mraskilaasan despite the red and gold cloak over his shoulder. "Show it to me."

The Vandal reached back to a pouch at his bandolier with his free hands and brought out a small piece of metal bearing the emblem of Scar stamped in bronze. It was heavier than it appeared, but it was small enough to grip in one hand.

"You have that and the right to command three dozen _drekhs_ by my command, Raksil. But, while I hunt, I exchange it for this." Kiphoris produced his own token, this one stamped with silver.

"Hunt?" The Vandal echoed. "Where are you going?"

"I have caught a scent." The bigger Eliksni took the token of the Vandal and gifted Raksil the token of an honoured Captain. "It is familiar to me. I must investigate. I will take the Marauders, but we leave you with a light-bender if trouble finds you. At all costs protect the little Kell. And keep my Skiffs unbroken, or I will have your arms." Kiphoris stepped back. "You are the Captain now."

The big Eliksni turned away and marched out of the landed skiff. A handful of specialized Vandals bearing light-benders and hoods to cover the gleam of their helmets followed their leader into the wildnerness. Raksil remained where he was, struck speechless.

Mezha-kel took the opportunity to clamp his little teeth down on the hand holding him. Raksil swore. "Psekisk!"

**000**

The next day was easier on all of them. Tellesa's anger had ebbed away into a prickly irritation at the back of her mind. Her words were more cordial, though when addressing Brom they still held a curt edge. The only consolation was that the elder's mood had lifted somewhat and he took it all in stride.

Brom had started the day with drilling Eragon on the matter of magic, Urgals, and Saphira in different scenarios of increasingly bad odds. Eragon answered as best he could, but his inexperience shone through as he failed more and more over time. Much of it was far from her area of expertise too, yet Brom included her all the same. It was similar to the training offered by Ikharos, but with a far less patient teacher.

At the very least, it served to confirm her suspicions. "You both use magic."

"We do," Brom grunted. "You aren't surprised? Ah, I'd wager not, if you'd traveled with a wizard. What was his name again?"

She knew Brom hadn't forgotten. Tellesa clearly saw what he was doing; he wasn't being subtle about it. "His name is Ikharos."

"Ikharos... not a name I've ever heard of. Are you sure he's foreign?"

"Very," Tellesa nodded. "Everything about him was strange."

"And he killed a Shade. Must be a powerful mage indeed. He gave you that weapon, didn't he?"

Tellesa's hand brushed the smooth metal of the rifle. "Eragon told you."

"He did."

"It was a gift."

"Would he truly part with something so valuable?"

"Do you really think I would steal it?" Tellesa urged her horse to pick up the pace. "Just ask your questions."

"I'm just worried," Brom admitted with a sigh. "It has been some time since any have arrived from distant lands. This isn't a good omen."

"He's not a bad person."

"Alagaësia is riddled with enough troubles. Outside influence is something we can ill afford."

Tellesa disagreed. The empire was too terrible to fathom. A foreign presence couldn't do anything to further worsen the situation. The only obstacle would be making those outsiders care enough to make a change. "It's out of our hands."

"So it is." Brom fell silent. Before long, he picked back up on testing Eragon on tactics.

* * *

There was a surprise in store for them as they settled down for the night. Brom rose up, sword in hand, and motioned for the other two to stand. Tellesa, worried, had almost reached for her rifle when Eragon spoke up.

"How can I spar if my wrist is broken?" The boy complained.

Brom scowled. "Use the other hand."

Eragon sighed and drew his odd red-hued blade. Tellesa had been about to sit back down, but Brom shook his head. "You too."

She shrugged and unsheathed the stolen Imperial blade. It was a simple steel arming sword, nothing special, but it was the very weapon she had accustomed herself to, just as she had the Tigerspite.

"Ward them," the storyteller ordered of the Rider. Eragon slowly ran his hand up and down his sword and then Tellesa's, giving life to a faint bluish barrier about the edges. Tellesa observed the movement and the faint words spoken with some measure of interest.

Eragon and Brom clashed first. The Rider was disarmed and beaten in no time. Brom was none too gentle about it, giving the boy a number of bruises that she knew would last days. When, for the third time, Eragon was thrown to the ground, he exhaled and stayed there.

Brom frowned but didn't scold him. By that point Tellesa had already assumed a stance.

The elder went for a startlingly quick swing that belied his age, but she deflected the strike readily enough and stepped forward to deliver a sudden pommel strike that sent Brom stumbling backwards. The old man cradled his broken nose and stared at her.

Beside them, Saphira started making a growling-coughing noise that sounded remarkably like laughter.

"That was a low blow," Brom criticized.

"There's no such thing as a fair fight. Only a victor and a corpse."

Brom assumed a grave expression. Then, suddenly, he grinned. "Good. You can hold your own, for a start."

* * *

The sparring continued for every night. Eragon, slowly but surely, managed to bring himself back to form and mastered wielding the sword in his offhand. Tellesa, too, improved under instruction from Brom and the opportunity to practice. One thing she noted was that the techniques used by Ikharos and Brom were very different, and had different purposes. Brom's way encouraged an extended duel where he could manage his stamina. Ikharos' method was full of brutal and wicked attacks that left the opponent in tatters within a mere handful of moves. She tried to merge the two styles and found some progress.

By the time they emerged from the pass, spring had returned to the land. Flowers blossomed in every field available, the farms they passed were busy with new calves or lambs, and leaves returned to the trees.

They followed the Toark River from Woadark lake in its southeasterly heading. When, finally, they reached the massive expanse of Leona Lake, Tellesa took the time to observe the faint moonlight reflecting off the sheet of liquid silver. It almost looked like ice, it was so still.

A sense of panic entered her mind and sent her thoughts whirling. The presence of the lake made real the knowledge that they could very well be closing in on the Ra'zac Eragon so doggedly hunted. Ra'zac were never as popular as a dark tale as Shades, but their stories had kept her up late at night as a child. They were creatures of darkness and evil. And this time, there was no immortal wizard around to kill them for her.

 _This is what I wanted,_ she told herself. _A chance to strike back at the king. At the empire. I need to grow stronger. I need experience. This is where I start._

Despite her conviction, she wasn't sure about their chances. Brom was sly and quick, but his body was unable to muster the strength necessary to kill monsters. And Eragon, though skilled, fast, and strong, was too single-minded and a touch naive. Tellesa had often used that against him to win their duels. Their greatest asset in this was Saphira, though the Ra'zac possessed powerful beasts of their own.

_We'll need the Tigerspite more than anything else. They won't know what it is. The element of surprise is on our side._

**000**

Kiphoris crawled close to the ground and peeked his head over the small rise, fitting the stock of his wire rifle against the crook of his upper right arm. He peered through the scope and followed the faint orange glow of fire lanterns carried by distant figures marching tiredly down the road. Even at this distance, he knew what they were. His eyes could pierce the gloom better than the sight of his prey ever could.

"What are they?" The Marauder to his left hissed.

Kiphoris hummed. "They shouldn't be here. Was I wrong?"

"Captain?"

"Humans," the great Eliksni muttered. "They are humans."

"Humans?" Another asked. "What are humans?"

The big warrior didn't answer for a moment. "Humans are... many things."

* * *

_The first time he saw a Guardian, he understood all the nightmarish tales passed along through the ranks of Dregs like contraband. The human - if it even was that - wore a suit of welded plate metal topped with spikes and a mantle of fur about its shoulders. It was only as tall as a Vandal, but the power with each stride was that of a Baron. Of a Kell._

_It never saw him as it walked down the corridor, led by two Corsairs. Perhaps it was to meet the Kell. Or perhaps to play along to the Judgement's games in his treasured prison. Kiphoris made note to avoid those two places, even though he had never set foot in the Prison of Elders before, and only ever visited the Awoken court on one occasion. He hadn't liked the politics or the sweet-poison words. He preferred the open purple skies and the exhilaration of all activities associated with the outside._

_"Don't like?" Lima teased._

_The Vandal-Kiphoris shook his head. It was a very human gesture, but that was part of the fun. "It scares me."_

_"Really?" The Corsair looked back down the hallway. The Guardian was long gone, but humans were silly like that. Some, like Melkis, found that infuriating. Kiphoris liked the approach of Misraaks: humour them. "Doesn't seem all that bad to me."_

_"You see it!" The Vandal complained. "Scarier than Cabal! Than Hive!"_

_"You haven't seen any Hive." Lima looked at him, puzzled._

_Kiphoris suppressed a swear. "Recordings."_

_The Awoken woman's face split into a sly grin. "From the prison?" She asked in a mockingly melodious voice._

_"Maybe..." The Vandal grudgingly admitted. "Don't tell?"_

_"What? That you've been sneaking around with contraband?" Lima leaned in closer. "Do you still have it?"_

_"... yes."_

_"Lend me a copy and no one will know."_

_"I gave-exchange silver for it!" He complained quietly._

_"Aw, c'mon. Movie night! There'll be popcorn!"_

_That gave Kiphoris pause. He found some of their words difficult, even with a translator, and often his words were addled by Eliksni inflections. "Butter-kind?"_

_"Buttered popcorn? You charge a hard bargain. Fine, deal."_

* * *

The Captain shook himself out of his reverie and refocused on the dilemma at hand.

He once more peered down the scope, but this time he attempted to pick out the details, the information that could potentially mean life or death. Living in isolation with nothing but murderous machines taught him that every scrap of knowledge counted.

It led to the next puzzling discovery. "They are soldiers," he announced. "But they wield only blades."

"Only blades?" A Marauder asked, surprise colouring her voice. "Nothing else?"

Kiphoris studied each and every one of them. Nothing matched what he knew of humans, be they Earthborn, Reefborn or Jovian. They resembled the kind of Earth identically, but their equipment was wrong. The way they walked was wrong. Their scent was different. Earthen humans had a crisp smell of hard-forged plasteel and gunpowder. This kind had a scent of crude iron and burnt wood.

"They're headed somewhere." Kiphoris stood and dropped the barrel of his rifle. "I will ask them where."

"Ask them?!" The first Marauder gasped. "But they brought down our Ketch!"

" _Eia_ , perhaps. But I will not be foolish enough to ignore their presence, or worse yet, make an enemy of them. Diplomacy fitted Misraaks well. I will walk the same path." The Captain held a hand out to the rising Marauders. "Stay here and keep watch. Come close, if you dare, but do not allow yourself to be seen. I know humans. They are ready for war, always."

"Like Cabal?" Another Eliksni spoke up disdainfully.

" _Nama_." Kiphoris shook his head. "They are smaller and craftier. Wait, and do not engage. Humans are a storm not easily weathered."

The biggest of the Scars lumbered down the rise and onto the path. The humans didn't see him at all, even though he was out in the open. The night was always their weakness. Kiphoris put away his rifle and held out empty upper hands, though a lower hand rested on the pommel of a shock sword.

When they did see him, the small group of humans froze and brought their lanterns to bear. Their previous conversation died away as they suddenly noticed the hulking figure before them, four blue eyes glowing in the impervious darkness.

Kiphoris reached to his helmet to switch on the translator. The vocal synthesizer wheezed and squeaked for a brief moment, making the human soldiers recoil with fright. Before Kiphoris could test out if it worked, one of those before him cried out, "Demon!"

He didn't even get the chance to speak before the small group in front of him - all garbed in boiled leather or ragged chainmail with a red cloak over their shoulders - became very hostile. They drew their simple steel swords and those with shields brought them up. One, armed with a mace, ran forward with a wild battlecry.

Kiphoris snarled. Another foolishness. Nostalgia would be the death of him. His faint hope had crumbled to ruin. Kiphoris drew his sword and, in two swift successive attacks, cleaved through the reinforced wooden handle of the primitive mace and impaled the wielder upon the electrified blade. He pushed the dead human off and held out his arms in an instinctual threatening display, letting out a primal roar.

The others never had the opportunity to react. The air was filled with the whines of Arc weapons, and the next moment all the soldiers were pierced with bolts of plasma. The entire band fell to the ground, dead.

"Captain, how do you fare?" A Marauder called to him. His name was Alkris, if Kiphoris remembered correctly.

"I am well." The larger Eliksni nudged the body beside him with his foot. "They are not."

The Scar scouts revealed themselves and joined him by the scene of the slaughter. Paltis crouched down, removed her helmet, and lifted the bared limb of a corpse closer for an inspection. "They are soft-skinned. And warm." She clicked her mandibles.

"Do not eat them!" Kiphoris ordered, addressing them with a tone fiercer than any he had used before. Paltis, and the others, recoiled immediately. The Captain immediately felt sorry. "They are not food."

"A pity," the third of five, an Eliksni by the name of Viltriks-Stonehopper, mumbled. "I haven't filled my belly with anything but Ether for so many cycles."

"There is other prey." Kiphoris told him. "Much more. We will eat them, just as the humans do. Don't eat the humans." He couldn't stomach the thought. He didn't tell the other Eliksni that, however.

"Then what will we do with them?"

"Hide the bodies. This was a mistake."

"What is our plan, Kiphoris-Captain?"

The big Eliksni huffed. "We scatter, as Tarrhis-Baron ordered. We keep low like rock-crabs and scurry out of sight. Alkris, send a message to Raksil. He must learn to move camps, or he risks attack."

"And what of us?"

"We will continue onwards until our Ether runs out." He pointed with one hand to the corpses. "This was a patrol. Humans are wary. They will send them out from their cities to watch for enemies."

"Gah!" Paltris snarled. She held up the human weapon for a moment, then tossed it away in disgust. "Not even good for salvage-cutting!"

Kiphoris paused. That nagged at him. It was too odd for his liking. Humans had their own technology that the Splicers everywhere craved. Even here, the satellites up above were a fearsome feat of clever minds. Then why were these soldiers bereft of anything even resembling machinery? Not even a radio between them.

"Go, Alkris."

**000**

For days they continued south along Leona Lake's vast shore. Eragon began to wonder if they would ever get around it, so he was heartened when they met men - fellow travelers on the road - who said that Dras-Leona was an easy day's ride ahead of them.

Eragon rose early the following morning. His fingers twitched with anticipation at the thought of actually finding the Ra'zac.

" _The three of you must be careful,_ " Saphira warned him. "T _he Ra'zac could have spies watching for travelers that fit your description._ "

" _We'll do our best to remain inconspicuous,_ " he assured her.

" _Perhaps, but realize that I won't be able to protect you as I did with the Urgals. I will be too far away to come to your aid, nor would I survive long in the narrow streets your kind favour. Follow Brom's lead and trust in Tellesa. They are sensible._ "

" _I know,_ " Eragon said somberly.

" _Will you go with Brom to the Varden? Once the Ra'zac are killed, he will want to take you to them. And since Galbatorix will be enraged by the Ra'zac's death, that may be the safest thing for us to do._ "

Eragon rubbed his arms. Even in the spring, the mornings could be bitterly cold. " _I don't want to fight the empire all the time like the Varden do. Life is more than constant war. There'll be a time to consider it once the Ra'zac are gone._ "

"Don't be so sure," she told him, then went to hide herself until night.

The road was clogged with farmers taking their goods to market in Dras-Leona. Brom, Eragon and Tellesa were forced to slow their horses and wait for the wagons that blocked the way.

Although they saw smoke in the distance, it was another league before the city was clearly visible. Unlike Teirm, a planned city, Dras-Leona was a tangled mess that sprawled next to Leona Lake. Ramshackle buildings sat on crooked streets, and the heart of the city was surrounded by a dirty, pale yellow wall of daubed mud.

Several miles east, a mountain of bare rock speared the sky with spires and columns, a tenebrous nightmare ship. Near-vertical sides rose out of the ground like a jagged piece of the earth's bone.

Brom pointed to it. " _That_ is Helgrind. It's the reason Dras-Leona was originally built. People are fascinated by it, even though it's an unhealthy and malevolent thing." He gestured at the buildings inside the city's walls. "We should go to the centre of the city first."

As they crept along the road to Dras-Leona, Eragon saw that the highest building within the city was a cathedral that loomed behind the walls. It was strikingly similar to Helgrind, especially when its arches and flanged spires caught the light. "Who do they worship?" He asked.

Brom grimaced in distaste. "Their prayers go to Helgrind. It's a cruel religion they practice. They drink human blood and make flesh offerings. Their priests often lack body parts because they believe that the more bone and sinew you give up, the less you're attached to the mortal world. They spend much of their time arguing about which of Helgrind's three peaks is the highest and the most important and whether the fourth - and lowest - should be included in their worship."

"That's horrible," Eragon said, shuddering.

"Yes," Brom said grimly, "but don't say that to a believer. You'll quickly lose a hand in 'penance.'"

At Dras-Leona's enormous gates, they led the horses through the crush of people. Ten soldiers were stationed on either side of the gates, casually scanning the crowd. It was more soldiers than were warranted, even with the traffic coming and going. Eragon watched them out of the corner of his eye. Something had alerted them. Fortunately, he, Brom, and Tellesa passed into the city without incident.

The houses inside the city were tall and thin to compensate for the lack of space. Those next to the wall were braced against it. Most of the houses hung over the narrow winding streets, covering the sky so it was hard to tell if it was night or day. Nearly all the buildings were constructed of the same rough brown wood, which darkened the city even more. The air reeked like a sewer; the streets were filthy.

A group of ragged children ran between the houses, fighting over scraps of bread. Deformed beggars crouched next to the entrance gates, pleading for money. Their cries for help were like a chorus of the damned.

"I won't stay here," Eragon said, rebelling against the sight.

"Behold the empire." Tellesa muttered.

"It gets better farther in," Brom told them. "Right now we need to find an inn and form a strategy. Dras-Leona can be a dangerous place to even the most cautious. I don't want to remain on the streets any longer than necessary."

They headed deeper into the city, leaving the squalid entrance behind. As they entered wealthier parts of the city, Eragon wondered, _How can these people live in ease when the suffering around them is so obvious?_

They found lodging at the Golden Globe, which was cheap but not decrepit. A narrow bed was crammed against one wall of the room, a rickety table and a basin alongside it. Eragon took one look at the mattress and said, "I'm sleeping on the floor. There are probably enough bugs in that thing to eat me alive."

"Well, I wouldn't want to deprive them of a meal," Brom said, dropping his bags on the bed. Eragon set his own on the floor and pulled off his bow.

"What now?" He asked.

"We find food and beer. After that, sleep. Tomorrow we can start looking for the Ra'zac."

They met Tellesa leaving her own room (she had similar comments on the quality of her own quarters) and went downstairs to fetch a meal. The food was barely adequate, but the beer was excellent. Eragon and Brom took advantage of that. Tellesa watched them with thinly veiled amusement, nursing a single flagon. By the time he stumbled back to the room, Eragon's head was buzzing pleasantly. He unrolled his blankets on the floor and slid under them as Brom tumbled onto the bed.

Just before he fell asleep, he contacted Saphira. " _We're going to be here for a few days, but this shouldn't take as long as it did at Teirm. When we discover where the Ra'zac are, you might be able to help us get them. I'll talk to you in the morning. Right now I'm not thinking clearly._ "

" _You've been drinking,_ " she considered it for a moment and had to agree that she was absolutely right. Her disapproval was clear, but all she said was, " _I won't envy you in the morning._ "

" _No, but Brom will. He drank twice as much as me._ "

* * *

 _What was I thinking?_ Eragon thought. His head was pounding and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy. As a rat skittered under the floor, Eragon winced at the noise.

" _How are we feeling?_ " Saphira asked smugly.

Eragon ignored her. A moment later, Brom rolled out of bed with a grumble. He doused his head in cold water from the basin, then left the room. Eragon followed him into the hallway. "Where are you going?" He asked.

"To recover."

"I'll come." At the bar, Eragon discovered that Brom's method of recovery involved imbibing copious amounts of hot tea and ice water, then washing it all down with a cheap brandy. Tellesa joined them shortly after. Though she said little, it was clear she was enjoying every moment of misery they endured.

When they returned to the room, Eragon was able to function somewhat better.

Brom belted on his sword and smoothed the wrinkles out of his robe. "The first thing we need to do is ask some discreet questions. I want to find out where the Seithr oil was delivered in Dras-Leona and where it was taken from there. Most likely, soldiers or workmen were involved in transporting it. We have to find those men and get one to talk."

The trio left the Golden Globe and searched for warehouses where the Seithr oil might have been delivered. Near the centre of Dras-Leona, the streets began to slant upward towards a palace of polished granite. It was built on a rise so that it towered above every building except the cathedral. Soldiers stationed every four yards watched passersby keenly.

"Who lives there?" Eragon asked, awed by the sight.

"Marcus Tábor, ruler of this city. He answers only to the king and his own conscience, which hasn't been very active recently," Brom said. They walked around the palace, looking at the gated, ornate houses that surrounded it.

By midday they had learned nothing useful, so they stopped for lunch. "This city is too vast for us to comb it together," Brom said. "Search on your own. Meet me at the Golden Globe by dusk." He glowered at both of them in turn. "I'm trusting the two of you not to do anything stupid."

"I won't," Eragon promised. Tellesa echoed it. Brom handed him some coins and strode away in the opposite direction. Tellesa had her own wealth to waste.

* * *

At last he found a man who had helped ship the oil and remembered to which warehouse it had been taken. Eragon excitedly went to look at the building, then returned to the Golden Globe. It was over an hour before Brom came back and slumped onto the bed with fatigue.

"Did you find anything?" Eragon asked hopefully.

Brom brushed back his white hair. "I heard a great deal of interesting things today, not the least of which is that Galbatorix will visit Dras-Leona within a week."

"What?" Eragon exclaimed.

The elder slouched against the wall, the lines on his forehead deepening. "It seems that Tábor has taken a few too many liberties with his power, so Galbatorix has decided to come teach him a lesson in humility. It's the first time the king has left Urû'baen in ten years."

"Do you think he knows of us?" Eragon pressed.

"Of course he _knows_ of us, but I'm sure he hasn't been told of our location. If he had, we would already be in the Ra'zac's grasp. However, this means that whatever we're going to do about the Ra'zac must be accomplished before Galbatorix arrives. We don't want to be anywhere within twenty leagues of him. The one thing in our favour is that the Ra'zac are sure to be here, preparing for his visit."

"I want to get the Ra'zac," Eragon said, his fists tightening. "But not if it means fighting the king. He could probably tear me to pieces."

That seemed to amuse Brom. "Very good: caution. And you're right; you wouldn't stand a chance against Galbatorix. Now tell me what you learned today. It might confirm what I heard."

Eragon shrugged. "It was mostly drivel, but I did talk with a man who knew where the oil was taken. It's just an old warehouse. other than that, I didn't discover anything useful."

"My day was a little more fruitful than yours. I heard the same thing you did, so I went to the warehouse and talked with the workers. It didn't take much cajoling before they revealed that the cases of oil are always sent from the warehouse to the palace."

"And that's when you came back here."

"No, it's not! Don't interrupt. After that, I went to the palace and got myself invited into the servants' quarters as a bard. For several hours I wandered about, amusing maids and others with songs and poems - and asking questions all the while." Brom slowly filled his pipe with tobacco. "It's really amazing all the things servants find out. Did you know that one of the earls has three mistresses, and they all live in the same wing of the palace?" He shook his head and lit the pipe. "Aside from the fascinating tidbits, I was told, quite by accident, where the oil is taken from the palace."

"And that is...?" Eragon asked impatiently.

Brom puffed on his pipe and blew a smoke ring. "Out of the city, of course. Every full moon two slaves are sent to the base of Helgrind with a month's worth of provisions. Whenever the Seithr oil arrives in Dras-Leona, they send it along with the provisions. The slaves are never seen again. And the one time someone followed them, he disappeared too."

"I thought the Riders demolished the slave trade," Eragon frowned.

"Unfortunately, it has flourished under the king's reign."

"So the Ra'zac are in Helgrind." Eragon pictured the mountains outside the city.

"There or nearby."

"If they _are_ in Helgrind, they'll be either at the bottom - and protected by a thick stone door - or higher up where only their flying mounts, Saphira, can reach. Top or bottom, their shelter will no doubt be disguised."

Eragon thought for a moment. "If Saphira and I go flying around Helgrind, the Ra'zac are sure to see us - not to mention all of Dras-Leona."

"It is a problem," Brom agreed.

"What if we took the place of the slaves? The full moon isn't far off. It would give us a perfect opportunity to get close to the Ra'zac."

Brom tugged his beard thoughtfully. "That's chancy at best. If the slaves are killed at a distance, we'll be in trouble. We can't harm the Ra'zac if they aren't in sight."

"We don't know if the slaves are killed at all," Eragon pointed out.

"I'm sure they are," Brom said, his face grave. "Still, it's an intriguing idea. If it were done with Saphira and Tellesa nearby and a... It might work, but we'll have to move quickly. With the king coming, there isn't much-"

Someone rapped their knuckles against the door three times. Without waiting for an answer, Tellesa entered, out of breath.

"Finally!" Brom announced. "Any trouble?"

She shook her head. "No... Didn't find much..."

"Then why are you breathless?"

"Thief tried to snag my gold."

"Are you alright?" Eragon asked.

Tellesa flashed a smile. "I am. The thief isn't."

"What happened?"

"I kicked him. Guards hauled him off. If anyone asks, my name is Ameir."

Brom chuckled. "Sit down. We've learned a few things."

They informed her of everything they learned that day. Tellesa listened quietly nodded along. "It sounds like a working plan. I've picked up a few things as well."

"Oh?" Brom leaned forward.

"A group of soldiers on patrol outside the city went missing a number of days ago. Twelve of them, armed and armoured, just disappeared. Not even bodies left behind. And they didn't run off either; some of them had families here."

"Ra'zac?" Eragon addressed Brom.

The elder frowned. "I don't know. Ra'zac are more subtle than that. What reason would they have for attacking soldiers in the first place?" He huffed. "It doesn't matter. Not yet. Tomorrow I'll return to the palace and figure out how we can replace the slaves. I have to be careful not to arouse suspicion, though - I could easily be revealed by spies and courtiers who know about the Ra'zac."

"I can't believe it; we actually found them," Eragon said quietly. An image of his dead uncle and burned farm flashed before his eyes. His jaw tightened.

"The toughest part is yet to come, but yes, we've done well," Brom said. "If fortune smiles upon us, you may soon have your revenge and the Varden will be rid of a dangerous enemy. What comes after that will be up to you."

Eragon opened his mind and jubilantly told Saphira, " _We found the Ra'zac's lair!_ "

" _Where?_ " He quickly explained what they had discovered. " _Helgrind. A fitting place for them._ "

Eragon agreed. " _When we're done here, maybe we could visit Carvahall._ "

" _What is it you want?_ " Saphira asked, suddenly sour. " _To go back to your previous life? You know that won't happen, so stop mooning after it! At a certain point you have to decide what to commit to. Will you hide for the rest of your life, or will you help the Varden? Those are the only options left to you, unless you join forces with Galbatorix, which I do not and never will accept._ "

Softly, he said, " _If I must choose, I cast my fate with the Varden, as you well know._ "

" _Yes, but sometimes you have to hear yourself say it_ _._ " She left him to ponder her words.


	20. Peaks of Sorrow II

They lurked about like hungry snowhounds in the wilderness that surrounded the rudimentary city, waiting for the chance to hook their fangs into the flesh of understanding. The settlement loomed up above the sea of trees it floated upon, heedlessly exposing itself to the threat of aerial bombardment. The city was in turn overshadowed by the wickedly pointed mountains. Kiphoris felt unusually nervous being near them. He knew, instinctively, that the mountains were a dark place. No better than a Hive nest.

Half the ether canisters had been consumed. In a few more local days Kiphoris would be forced to call a retreat back to his hidden Skiffs. He was honour-bound to uphold his duties as a Scar, but the ancestral roots of his old banner demanded he learn all he could on this strange-yet-familiar people. He needed to understand, though even he didn't know why his curiosity burned so brightly. A memory, perhaps? Or a desire for days past and wars unfought?

"Kiphoris-Captain?" Alkris asked, his voice hushed. They were close enough that there was a danger of being discovered. Despite that, Kiphoris felt at ease. He couldn't make sense of much of what they had learned, yet he knew enough already to avoid further mistakes. He hated mistakes. Mistakes could cost him his life and the lives of his crew. The screeching machines had taught him that.

"Yes, Alkris?" The bigger Eliskni rumbled.

"With all respect-owed, why are we here? We are learning so very little."

"Not I." Kiphoris turned about to face the Marauder. "It may not be much overall, but I am learning enough. I am learning that which may benefit our banner. I am learning through answers withheld."

"Captain?"

"Can you smell that, Alkris? All those scents, they are strange to me but I know them. _I know them._ When we finish, I will send a report to Tarrhis so that our Baron may make his decisions after he has seen the entire picture. We cannot blunder about, yes? We must be cautious and mindful of our actions. Our future will depend on it." He looked up. "This world is a piece that does not fit into the puzzle. We have become a part of that, willingly or not. I will do the best I can so that we might yet survive this planet."

**000**

Eragon was alone in the room when he awoke. A note was pinned to the wall, the letters scrawled with charcoal, and it read:

_Eragon,_

_I will be gone until late tonight. Coins for food are under the mattress. Explore the city, enjoy yourself, but stay unnoticed!_

_Avoid the palace. Don't go anywhere without your bow. Keep it strung._

_Brom._

The Rider retrieved the money under the bed, slipped his bow across his back, and thought, _I wish I didn't have to go armed all the time._

He found Tellesa in the room below enjoying a basic breakfast. She mumbled a greeting and went back to reading her book. Eragon sat across from her and inspected the title. " _Legends from across the Seas_? Is it... good?"

"I'm enjoying it, but some of these tales are too far fetched for my liking," she shrugged and set it down. "Brom won't be back until later."

"Yes, he left me a note." Eragon looked around. "I don't like this city."

"I think he was lying when he said it would get better." Tellesa mused with good humour. "It most certainly did not. Still, we haven't seen all of it. Maybe there's a hidden gem somewhere nearby."

They left the Golden Globe soon after and ambled through the streets, stopping to observe whatever they found interesting. There were many intriguing stores, but none quite as exciting as Angela's herb shop in Teirm. At times he glared at the dark, claustrophobic houses and wished that he were free of the city. When they grew hungry, they bought a wedge of cheese and a loaf of bread and ate them, sitting on a curb. They watched as a contingent of soldiers hurried to the walls, not even sparing them a glance.

"Lord Tábor is raising the security. The disappearance of his men has rattled him," Tellesa explained. She appeared completely at ease, despite the proximity of the soldiers, though Eragon noted that her eyes darted around and absorbed every tidbit of information she could find on the Imperials.

Later, in a far corner of Dras-Leona, he heard an auctioneer rattling off a list of prices. Curious, they headed towards the voice and arrived at a wide opening between two buildings. Ten men stood on a waist-high platform. Arrayed before them was a richly dressed crowd that was both colourful and boisterous. He heard Tellesa curse darkly. Eragon frowned. _Where are the goods for sale?_ He wondered.

The auctioneer finished his list and motioned for a young man behind the platform to join him. The man awkwardly climbed up, chains dragging at his hands and feet. "And here we have our first item," the auctioneer proclaimed. "A healthy male from the Hadarac Desert, captured just last month, and in excellent condition. Look at those arms and legs; he's as strong as a bull! He'd be perfect as a shield-bearer, or, if you don't trust him for that, hard labor. But let me tell you, lords and ladies, that would be a waste. He's as bright as a nail, if you can get him to talk a civilized tongue!"

The crowd laughed, and Eragon ground his teeth with fury. His lips started to form a word that would free the slave, and his arm, newly liberated from the splint, rose. The mark on his palm shimmered. He was about to realize the magic when Tellesa forcibly grabbed the limb and pushed it down.

"No!" She hissed. "He'd never get away, and you'd expose us!"

Eragon caught on at the last second and, with great reluctance, let go of the spell he had prepared and quietly swore. _Think! This is how you got into trouble with the Urgals!_

He watched helplessly as the slave was sold to a tall, hawk-nosed man. The next slave was a tiny girl, no more than six years old, wrenched from the arms of her crying mother. As the auctioneer started the bidding, Eragon forced himself to walk away, rigid with outrage and fury.

It was several blocks before the weeping was inaudible. _I'd like to see a thief try to cut my purse right now,_ he thought grimly, almost wishing it would happen. Frustrated, he punched a nearby wall, bruising his knuckles.

"Another reason to bring it all crashing down," Tellesa quietly muttered. Her hands shook by her side.

 _That's the sort of thing I could stop by fighting the empire,_ he realized. _With Saphira by my side I could free those slaves. I've been graced with special powers; it would be selfish of me not to use them for the benefit of others. If I don't, I might as well not be a Rider at all._

It was a while before he took stock of his bearings and was surprised to find they had walked all the way to the cathedral. Its twisted spires were covered with statues and scrollwork. Snarling gargoyles crouched along the eaves. Fantastic beasts writhed on the side, and heroes and kings marched along their bottom edges, frozen in cold marble. Ribbed arches and tall stained-glass windows lined the cathedral's sides, along with columns of differing sizes. A lonely turret helmed the building like a mast.

Recessed in the shadow at the cathedral's front was an iron-bound door inlaid with a row of silver script that Eragon recognized as the ancient language. As best as he could tell, it read: _May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved._

The entire building sent a shiver down Eragon's spine. There was something menacing about it, as if it were a predator crouched in the city, waiting for its next victim.

"This place is the worst," he heard Tellesa whisper.

A broad row of steps led to the cathedral's entrance. Eragon solemnly ascended them and stopped before the door. "I wonder if we can go in..."

"I don't want to lose a hand."

"For entering their church? Surely not."

Tellesa sighed, joined him, and pushed the door open. It swung open smoothly, gliding on oiled hinges. They stepped inside.

The silence of a forgotten tomb filled the empty cathedral. The air was chill and dry. Bare walls extended to a vaulted ceiling that was so high Eragon felt no taller than an ant. The stained-glass windows depicted scenes of anger, hate and remorse, while spectral beams of light washed over the rows of granite pews in alternating hues.

Between the windows stood statues with rigid, pale eyes. Eragon returned their stern gazes, then slowly trod up the centre row, afraid to break the quiet. His leather boots padded noiselessly on the polished stone.

The altar was a great slab of stone devoid of adornment. A solitary finger of light fell upon it, illuminating motes of golden dust floating in the air. Behind the altar, the pipes of a wind organ pierced the ceiling and opened themselves to the elements. The instrument would play its music only when a gale rocked Dras-Leona.

Out of respect, Eragon knelt before the altar and bowed his head. He did not pray but paid homage to the cathedral itself. The sorrows of the lives it had witnessed, as well as the unpleasantness of the elaborate pageantry that played out between its walls, emanated from the stones. In that chilling touch, though, came a glimpse of eternity and perhaps the powers that lay there.

Finally, Eragon inclined his head and rose. Calm and grave, he whispered to himself in the ancient language. Only the sudden gasp from Tellesa broke his reverie. He turned and froze. His heart jumped, hammering like a drum.

The Ra'zac stood at the cathedral's entrance, watching him. Their swords were drawn, keen edges bloody in the crimson light. A sibilant hiss came from the smaller. Neither of them moved.

Rage welled up in Eragon. He had chased the Ra'zac for so many weeks that the pain of their murderous deed had dulled within him. But his vengeance was at hand. His wrath exploded like a volcano, fueled even more by his pent-up fury at the slaves' plight. A roar broke his lips, echoing like a thunderstorm as he snatched his bow from his back. Deftly, he fitted an arrow to the string and let loose. Two more followed an instant later.

The Ra'zac leapt away from the arrows with inhuman speed. They hissed as they ran up the aisles between the pews, cloaks flapping like raven wings. Eragon reached for another arrow, but caution stayed his hand. _They knew where to find me! Brom must be in danger!_ His eyes switched to Tellesa. She held a dagger and nothing more. _We can't possibly-_

Then, to his horror, a line of soldiers filed into the cathedral, and he glimpsed a field of uniforms jostling outside the doorway.

Eragon gazed hungrily at the charging Ra'zac, then swept around, searching for means of escape. A vestibule to the left of the altar caught his attention. He bounded through the archway and dashed down a corridor that led to a priory with a belfry, looking behind to ensure Tellesa was with him. She had wasted no time in racing after him. The patter of the Ra'zac's feet behind them made him quicken his pace until the hall abruptly ended with a closed door.

He pounded against it, trying to break it open, but he did little more than make it budge. Then Tellesa slammed into it with her shoulder, causing it to crash open. They jumped into the narrow corridor and continued running.

They sped through several chambers, startling a group of priests; Tellesa grabbed one who had been about to shout at them and tossed him back into the way of their pursuers. Curses and alarmed cries followed them. The priory bell tolled an alarm. They dodged through a kitchen, passed a pair of monks, then slipped through a side door into a garden surrounded by high brick walls. He began to skid to a stop, but Tellesa kept going and leapt, catching the top of the wall with her fingers and hauling herself over it. In a split-second decision Eragon followed her lead. Desperate, he rushed at the walls, arms pumping. Magic could not help him here - if he used it to break through the wall, he would be too tired to run.

He jumped and barely managed to clear his fingers over the edge. He hung there for a split second, hearing the Ra'zac close by, lifted himself up and over. His shoulders shrieked with pain as he landed with a stumble on the other side, but he managed to recover just as the Ra'zac leapt over the wall. Tellesa was there beside him and tugged him onwards. Galvanized, Eragon put on another burst of speed.

They ran for over a mile before he had to stop and catch his breath, his companion not faring much better. Unsure if they lost the Ra'zac, they delved into a crowded marketplace and dived under a parked wagon.

"How..." He began, but Tellesa quickly cut him off.

"No time for questions!" She snapped. "We need to find Brom!"

Eragon reached out with his mind to Saphira and said, " _The Ra'zac found me. We're all in danger! Check if Brom's alright. If he is, warn him and have him meet us at the inn. And be ready to fly here as fast as you can. We may need your help to escape._ "

She was silent, then said curtly, " _He'll meet you at the inn. Is Tellesa with you?_ "

" _She is._ "

" _Don't stop moving._ "

"Brom will meet us at the inn," Eragon whispered. Tellesa gave a brief nod. They rolled out from under the wagon and hurried back to the Golden Globe, looking over their shoulders constantly. They raced into their rooms and packed their belongings with as much haste as they could muster, saddled the horses and then led them to the street.

Brom arrived not long after, staff in hand, scowling dangerously. He swung onto Snowfire's saddle and asked, "What happened?"

"We were in the cathedral when the Ra'zac just appeared behind us," Eragon answered, climbing onto Cadoc. Tellesa likewise mounted her nameless steed. "I ran back as fast as possible, but they could be here at any moment. Saphira will join us once we're out of Dras-Leona."

"We have to get outside the city walls before they close the gates, if they haven't already," Brom said. "If they're shut, it'll be nigh impossible for us to leave. Whatever you do, don't get separated from me."

Eragon stiffened as ranks of soldiers marched down one end of the street. Brom cursed, lashed Snowfire with his reigns, and galloped away. Tellesa and Eragon followed close behind. They nearly crashed during the wild, hazardous ride, plunging through masses of people that clogged the streets as they neared the city wall. When the gates finally came into view, Eragon pulled on Cadoc's reins with dismay. The gates were already half-closed, and a double line of pikemen blocked their way.

"They'll cut us to pieces!" He exclaimed.

"We have to try and make it," Brom said, his voice hard. "I'll deal with the men, but you have to keep the gates open for us."

Eragon nodded, gritted his teeth, and dug his heels into Cadoc. They plowed toward the line of unwavering soldiers, who lowered their pikes towards the horses' chests and braced the weapons against the ground. Though the horses snorted with fear, their riders held them in place. Eragon heard the soldiers shout but kept his attention on the gates inching shut.

As they neared the sharp pikes, Brom raised his hand and spoke. The words struck with precision; the soldiers fell to each side as if their legs had been cut out from under them. The gap between gates shrank by the second. Hoping that the effort would not prove too much for him, Eragon drew on his power and shouted, " _Du grind huildr!_ "

A deep grating sound emanated from the gates as they trembled, then ground to a stop. The crowd and guards fell silent, staring with amazement. With a clatter of the horses' hooves, Brom and Eragon shot out from behind Dras-Leona's wall. The instant they were free, Eragon released the gates. They shuddered, then boomed shut.

He swayed with the expected fatigue but managed to keep riding. Brom watched him with concern. Their flight continued through the outskirts of the city as alarm trumpets sounded on the city wall. Saphira waited for them by the edge of Dras-Leona, hidden behind some trees. Her eyes burned; her tail whipped back and forth.

"Go, ride her," Brom ordered of him. "And this time stay in the air, no matter what happens to us. We'll head south. Fly nearby; it doesn't matter if Saphira's seen."

Eragon quickly mounted Saphira. As the ground dwindled away beneath him, he watched Brom and Tellesa gallop along the road.

" _Are you alright?_ " Saphira asked.

" _Yes,_ " Eragon replied. " _But only because we were very lucky._ "

A puff of smoke blew from her nostrils. " _All the time we spent searching for the Ra'zac was useless._ "

" _I know,_ " he said, letting his head rest against her scales. " _If the Ra'zac had been the only enemies back there, I would have stayed and fought, but with all the soldiers on their side, it was hardly a fair match!_ "

" _You understand that there will be talk of us now? This was hardly an unobtrusive escape. Evading the empire will be harder than ever._ " There was an edge to her voice that he was unaccustomed to.

" _I know._ "

They flew low and fast over the road. Leona Lake receded behind them; the land became dry and rocky and filled with tough, sharp bushes and many spindly trees. Clouds darkened the sky. Lightning flashed in the distance. As the wind began to howl, Saphira glided steeply down to Brom and Tellesa. The horseriders halted their pace and the elder asked, "What's wrong?"

"The wind's too strong."

"It's not that bad," Brom objected.

"It is up there," Eragon said, pointing at the sky.

Brom swore and handed him Cadoc's reins. They trotted away with Saphira following on foot, though on the ground she had difficulty keeping up with the horses.

The gale grew stronger, flinging dirt and leaves through the air and forcing them to inch closer and closer to the edge of the road to use the trees as cover. Soon, darkness forced them to stop. With only the stars to guide them, they left the road and made camp behind two boulders. It was too dangerous to light a fire, so they ate cold food while Saphira sheltered them from the wind.

After the sparse dinner, Eragon asked bluntly, "How did they find us?"

Brom started to light his pipe, but thought better of it and put it away. "One of the palace servants warned me there were spies among them. Somehow word of me and my questions must have reached Tábor... and through him, the Ra'zac."

"We can't go back to Dras-Leona, can we?" Tellesa said. It was more of a statement than a question.

Brom shook his head. "Not for a few years."

Eragon held his head between his hands. "Then should we draw the Ra'zac out? If we let Saphira be seen, they'll come running to wherever she is."

"And when they do, there will be fifty soldiers with them," Brom said. "At any rate, this isn't the time to discuss it. Right now we have to concentrate on staying alive. Tonight will be the most dangerous because the Ra'zac will be hunting us in the dark, when they are strongest. We'll have to trade watches until morning."

"Right," Eragon said, standing. He hesitated and squinted. His eyes had caught a flicker of movement, a small patch of colour that stood out from the surrounding nightscape. He stepped toward the edge of their camp, trying to see it better.

"What is it?" Brom asked as he unrolled his blankets.

Eragon stared into the darkness, then turned back. "I don't know. I thought I saw something. It must have been a bird."

Pain erupted in the back of his head, and Saphira roared. Then Eragon toppled to the ground, unconscious.

**000**

Alkris lurked unseen in the darkness beyond the torchlight, his entire form invisible to sight. Even the light of his eyes had been dimmed by the shaded glass of his helmet. He clutched his shock rifle close to his body, a lower arm always near his daggers, but nothing so much as bothered to look in his direction. The humans - as the Captain had named them - were oblivious. They were careless in their arrogance.

His mate, Paltis, brushed by him and tapped his shoulder with a claw. They snuck away, unnoticed by even the beasts of the forests. Paltis was able to scamper up a tree and snatch a pigeon. The animal, now suddenly aware of the two, tried to tear out of her grasp and fly away, but the Marauder snapped its neck. The pair shared the meat as they hiked back to the rest of the scouting party.

Upon return, they immediately noticed something was off. Kiphoris was pacing about with his helmet removed, sniffing the air and tasting it with a thin forked tongue that darted out briefly from his maw full of fangs. His plumage of hair stood on end, a flawless deep blue.

Alkris shook the bloody feathers from his claws and reattached his helmet. "The humans are panicked, Kiphoris-Captain."

Kiphoris twirled around and huffed. "Why?" He asked in that cold, calculated tone of his.

"I do not know. They are searching for something. There is great confusion in their ranks."

"Did you reveal yourselves?" The Captain reared up.

"No!" Paltis defended. "We followed your orders and remained undetected. The humans worry over themselves!"

That did nothing to soothe the Captain. He swore. "Psekisk!"

He was upset. Alkris found himself lost for words. For the many cycles he had served under the Captain, he had never seen any sign of feeling in him, no matter how dire the situation. This agitated state was unnerving for all who bore witness.

Kiphoris perked up and breathed in the foreign air. There were too many strange scents for the Marauder to make sense of, but the Captain seemed to filter through it without any problem. "I smell amethysts. I smell the stars and silver and wine. I smell scorched flesh and the stench of scavengers circling before a kill." The large Eliksni lurched about, swiveling his head to and fro. He pointed an arm in a random direction. "It comes from there. The winds carry it on swift wings."

"Captain?" Viltrus asked, his own worry evident.

"Follow," Kiphoris barked. He put aside his weapons and bounded away on all six limbs. The Marauders dutifully scrambled after him.

**000**

Tellesa glared at the cowled visages of the Ra'zac as they tied down Saphira's wings with black chains. The dragon's legs had already been shackled to prevent her from clawing them. The Saphira snarled and roared, but she didn't dare attack. Not when they held a knife to her Rider's throat.

The rebel pulled on her own binds, but the knot was too secure to undo. The rope bit painfully into the skin of her wrists. Regardless, she didn't stop trying, attempting to find some way to fight back. Her mind betrayed her, though, and kept reminding her that even if she freed herself, what then? They only had to threaten Eragon's life once more. Odds were they wouldn't even need to do that. _What chance do I have even_ if _I unbind my hands?_

She glanced at the bags. The Ra'zac had briefly rummaged through the packs and tossed aside the Tigerspite after a moment's inspection. They didn't know what it was. Maybe, if she slipped free and reached it...

One of the dark creatures laughed chillingly. "The drug is working, yessss? I think you will not be bothering us again."

She turned her head. One of the monsters stood over the Rider. To her relief, Eragon was moving. She had worried that the blow was a grievous one. Head injuries could be very, very dangerous.

There was a rattle as the second Ra'zac fitted a muzzle over Saphira's head.

"She was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you," the first creature hissed. It crouched by Eragon and reached into his own bag, throwing out whatever didn't catch its interest until it found the sheathed form of the Rider's sword. "What a pretty thing for one so... insignificant. Maybe I will keep it." It leaned closer to the boy. "Or maybe, if you behave, our master will let you polish it."

Then it turned the weapon over and saw something to cause it alarm, eliciting a screech. It's companion rushed over. They passed the sword between them and conversed in their own tongue, clicking and hissing. At last they faced Eragon. "You will serve our master well, yesss."

"If I do, I will kill you," Eragon shot back, his words slurred as if drunk.

The Ra'zac chuckled. By the gods, she hated that sound. "Oh no, we are too valuable. But you... you are disposable."

Saphira snarled. Smoke trailed from her nostrils. The Ra'zac didn't care enough to grant her any further attention.

Their focus was diverted when Brom groaned and began to wake up. The second Ra'zac grabbed the elder's shirt and thrusted him effortlessly into the air. "It'ssss wearing off."

"Give him more."

"Let'sss just kill him. He has caused us much grief."

The first trailed its clawed finger down the red sword. "A good plan. But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them alive."

"We can say-"

A distant roar pierced the night. Even Saphira, who struggled against the cruel contraptions holding her down, fell silent as the bellow echoed around them. Tellesa paled. It didn't sound near, but... it sounded large. It carried on for a brief few moments, full of power and fury. At first she thought it a bear, but she had never heard of any that sounded like that.

The first Ra'zac snarled and drew his own sword, his eyes flitting around. "Beasts."

"Kill him now!" The second urged. "We can sssay he was killed when we captured them!"

"And what of thisss one?" The first, taller of the two, gestured to Eragon. "If he talksss?"

The second laughed. "He would not dare."

There was a long silence. The first glancing back to the forest beyond the camp, then grunted. "Agreed. We kill the other human next."

"And feast?"

"Yesssss."

They dragged Brom to the centre of the camp and shoved him to his knees. Brom sagged to one side. Tellesa wrenched at the ropes holding her down, but they were too strong to break.

A second roar, lighter than the first but much closer, came from their left. Another sound followed; like a human cry cut off before it could truly begin.

The Ra'zac startled and forgot about Brom entirely. They turned to face the origin of the sound with weapons drawn, knees bent into a readied stance. It was their mistake. Despite their sharp senses, Tellesa saw the figure before they noticed its arrival. It might very well have been her muffled gasp behind the restraint meant to keep her silent that alerted the servants of the king.

It clambered over the boulders and dropped heavily. The darkness of the night obscured much of its image, and what little was revealed by the dying campfire terrified her. It was indeed large. Larger than any man, tall enough to rival Saphira when standing. It grasped, in two arms held aloft, twin blades that crackled with restrained lightning. Its head was framed by the metal wings of its helmet. Four bright blue lights glared out of where its eyes should have been; Tellesa realized moments later that they were its eyes. And then, with a revelation that shook her, the flicker of firelight revealed another pair of arms reaching down to its hips to grasp the holstered forms of firearms. They were just like the personal weapon of Ikharos, but larger and forged of bronze and dark grey steel.

It bellowed in a voice that bespoke of intelligent language, though the words were hard to hear through the clicking, chirping, and growling. " _Ka e Di-Ba hoor ma! Skas Bar-Has! RAAARK!_ "

A grand cloak of rusted red billowed behind it. It took one step forward, challenging the monsters. The Ra'zac chittered between themselves and hissed at the newcomer. They were nervous. Fearful, even.

Another roar answered that of the one before them, coming from beyond the boulders. More of its kin were converging on their position. Tellesa tried to make herself small and unnoticeable, though she knew it fruitless. She only hoped the rage of the new creatures expended itself on the servants of the king. The Ra'zac made no move to stop Brom as he blearily staggered upright.

"Get down!" Eragon cried out.

Brom wavered, then tottered towards the Rider.

With a sudden wild cry, the smaller Ra'zac fled towards the direction of the road, kicking Eragon viciously in the side as it passed. Its companion hesitated, looking between the Rider and the imposing form of the newcomer, then raced after the other. Before it left camp, however, it twirled around and hurled a knife towards Eragon.

Brom threw himself in front of Eragon, his mouth open in a soundless snarl. The dagger struck him with a soft thump, and he landed heavily on his shoulder. His head lolled limply.

"No!" Eragon screamed weakly, though he was doubled over in pain. He too fell onto his side, breathing raggedly, and closed his eyes.

Saphira whined and bucked against the metal restricting her movements. Tellesa struggled against the rope with a renewed determination, but that was quickly cut short when a gruff bark echoed across the campsite. Her eyes darted back to the creature that had scared off the Ra'zac.

Another climbed over the boulder and fell beside it on lithe limbs. The second was smaller than the first, its helmet without the proud wings and covered by a red hood that connected to its own ragged cloak. It held a one-handed firearm identical to the ones holstered at the larger one's waist, as well as two knives. The smaller one stared at Saphira. The first, however, ignored the dragon. It strode forward and picked up the fallen Tigerspite, sheathing its blades, and brought the rifle close to its eyes. It traced its fingers over the curves of the sleek metal, the soft weather-resistant blue cloth, and ejected the magazine without any issue. The rumble that had once emanated from it quickly fell away.

A third joined them and barked. " _Kiphoris-Veskirisk? Hulunkles?_ "

" _Nama,_ " the first growled. " _Slo at dres bas._ " It lifted its head and turned about, as if noticing they were being watched. Tellesa shivered as the four glowing orbs settled on her. " _Ban-Fre._ "

The other two twirled around and glared at her. The big creature walked forward, unblinking. Tellesa fell back and tried to scramble away, but it reached her within a moment and grasped the bonds between her wrists in one hand and her shoulder with another. Its grip was powerful; she was under no illusion that it couldn't kill her with its bare hands. The creature possessed a terrible strength, a rippling power driven with the purpose of a sapient being.

A third hand reached up and, delicately, tore away the cloth with a single swipe of a claw. It didn't let go of her, however. It crouched down beside her, still towering over her, and reached up with its fourth hand to press something on the side of its helmet. Then it said, "Speak."

Tellesa flinched. It was an inhuman voice, just like the Ra'zac's. But where the servants of the king had high-pitched cackles, this creature spoke with a deep guttural grumble framed by accompanying animalistic noises that set her on edge.

"Speak," it said again, more forceful this time. Its fellows decided to ignore the exchange, instead inspecting the form of Saphira.

"What are you?" Tellesa blurted.

The creature tilted its head. This close, she could see the hard grey shell around its eyes and the taut leathery skin covering where the natural armour did not. " _Eliksni._ " It motioned to the other two. " _Kalakhselen_ _._ "

"I don't understand."

The creature grunted. "Gah, unseeing things don't see the stars." It lifted up the Tigerspite. "Where did you take-find this?"

"It was a gift..." Tellesa answered. Her heart raced.

"Gifted-whom?"

"Why?"

"Did the gifters glow?" The creature asked. "Did they dance with stars? Did they whisper into night?"

"I don't know-"

"Was it twin-souls scarred?"

"What does that mean?"

"I think not." The creature's sigh sounded more like a growl. "Not twin-souls. Not Awoken. Who, then? Jovian? _Sha'ir_?"

"What does-"

"Light-Thief."

"Light..." Tellesa's mind raced. "He talked about Light, but I don't think he was a-"

The creature before her shuddered. " _Sha'ir psekiskar!_ "

"Please," she cried and looked to where Brom and Eragon had fallen. "They need help!"

The creature stood and looked down at her with an indecipherable gaze, then it snapped a command to the other two. They immediately complied and left Saphira be. One lifted Eragon and set him down apart from Brom. The two then addressed the injured elder. They carefully rolled him over and closely inspected the knife in his side.

The larger beast roughly tugged Tellesa up to her feet and sliced apart her bindings. The rope fell away, the biting pain of it blissfully shrinking to a dull throb. She would have ran to see to her companions if the creature wasn't still holding her shoulder. It lifted an arm in the dragon's direction. "What is that?"

"Dragon, she's a friend, please don't-" Tellesa rambled. A swift bark cut her off.

"Wish-beast?" The creature demanded, now eyeing Saphira with interest.

"What? No, a dragon."

"A friend. It can think?"

"Yes."

"Speak?"

"... Not like you or I, but she understands us."

"Tell it if it strikes, I will have skull-trophy from it."

The creature let go of her. Tellesa raced to the dragon's side. Saphira lay still, her eyes constantly watching over Eragon's prone form. The rebel pulled on a stake nailed to the ground and wrenched it out, causing a couple of chains to go slack. "Please, Saphira, just... I don't think we should cross them..."

" _Neither do I. They smell of war._ "

Yet more roars rebounded into the camp. Another trio of the creatures - still smaller than the first yet standing taller than any human - marched in with a human prisoner between them. The youth was conscious and wide-eyed, his serious face and fierce gray eyes were framed by the locks of his long, dark brown hair. He didn't say a word as the creatures escorting him pushed him down to his knees once they reached the camp. The newcomers began to converse in their own language with those already present. Tellesa tried to put it out of her mind as she unshackled Saphira.

At last the chains and manacles fell away, and Saphira lifted herself to her feet. The creatures - the Eliksni - all regarded her with what she judged to be some measure of caution. It was hard to tell, with their unfamiliar body language and their strange armour. When the dragon gingerly outstretched her cramped wings, they readied weapons. Saphira immediately dragged her wings back and folded them against her body, lowering her head. It told Tellesa that she too feared the new creatures.

It didn't stop Saphira from walking over to Eragon's side, however. She crouched over the Rider and spread her wings protectively on either side.

One of those tending to Brom said something. Their leader turned to Tellesa. "See him. We will move soon. Bone-pickers will come back if not."

She understood, more or less. They wanted to move on before the Ra'zac returned. They needed her to see whether Brom could be moved or not. Tellesa didn't miss that letting her and her companions go wasn't an option. She had no choice but to obey and meet their demands.

**000**

For a long while, Eragon was aware only of the burning in his side. Each breath was painful. His sense of time was skewed; it was hard to tell if weeks had gone by, or only a few minutes. When consciousness finally came to him, he opened his eyes and peered curiously at a campfire several feet away. His hands were still tied together, but the drug must have worn off because he could think clearly again. " _Saphira, are you injured?_ "

" _No, but you and Brom are._ " She loomed over him, wings over them as if to ward away a storm.

" _Where's Tellesa and..._ " Eragon struggled to his knees and saw a young man sitting on the far side of the fire. There was no sign of Tellesa, but he was relieved to see Brom still breathing - albeit weakly.

The stranger, dressed in tattered clothes, exuded a calm, assured air. In his hands was a bow, at his side a long hand-and-a-half sword. A white horn boundt with silver fittings laid on his lap, and the hilt of a dagger protruded from his boot. He appeared to be a few years older than Eragon and perhaps an inch or so taller. Behind him a gray war-horse was picketed by Cadoc, Snowfire, and Tellesa's steed. The stranger watched Saphira warily.

"Who are you?" Eragon asked, taking a shallow breath.

The man's hands tightened on his bow. "Murtagh." His voice was low and controlled, but curiously emotional.

There was a rustling from the side, and an inhuman figure entered Eragon's sight. His breath was stolen from his lungs as he froze with shock, his heart grasped by cold fear. The creature - taller than any man, possessing four arms and four glowing blue eyes - spared him a brief glance.

" _Hus ka de?_ " It asked in its gruff voice, faint clicks echoing around the words. " _Shas hua._ "

It held in one of its four hands a brace of rabbits. Murtagh rose and warily took it from the creature. It made a clacking sound, then walked away.

Eragon swallowed past the lump in his throat. "What... what was that?"

"They call themselves Eliksni," Murtagh answered, his own voice hushed. The older boy looked over his shoulder to check if the creature was truly gone.

"Where's Tellesa?"

"The woman, right? They're talking to her. One of them - their leader - speaks the common tongue."

" _She's fine,_ " Saphira told him. It only partially reassured him. " _I do not think t_ _hey are our foes._ "

" _But are they our friends?_ " Eragon asked. Saphira couldn't give him an answer. "Why are you here?"

"They caught me near your camp," Murtagh told him, and settled the Rider with an inquisitive look. "You aren't the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I was tracking them."

"You know who they are?"

"Yes."

Eragon concentrated on the ropes that bound his wrists and reached for his magic. He hesitated, aware of Murtagh's eyes on him, then decided it didn't matter. " _Jierda!_ " He grunted. The ropes snapped off his wrists. He rubbed his hands to get the blood flowing.

Murtagh sucked in his breath. Eragon braced himself and tried to stand, but his ribs seared with agony. He fell back, gasping between clenched teeth. Murtagh tried to come to his aid, but Saphira stopped him with a growl. "I would have helped you earlier, but your dragon wouldn't let me near you."

"Her name's Saphira," Eragon said tightly.

"So I've heard."

" _Let him by!_ " Eragon told Saphira. " _I can't do this alone. Better him than one of those... Eliksni._ "

The dragon growled again, but folded her wings and backed away. Murtag eyed her flatly as he stepped forward. He grasped Eragon's arm, gently pulling him to his feet. Eragon yelped and would have fallen without support. They went to the fire, where Brom laid on his back.

"How is he?" Eragon asked.

"Not well," Murtagh said, lowering him to the ground. "The knife went between his ribs. You can look at him in a minute, but first we'd better see how much damage the Ra'zac did to you." He helped Eragon remove his shirt, then whistled. "Ouch!"

"Ouch," Eragon agreed weakly. A blotchy bruise extended down his left side. The red, swollen skin was broken in several places. Murtagh put a hand on the bruise and pressed lightly. Eragon yelled, and Saphira snapped her jaws.

Murtagh glanced at the dragon as he grabbed a blanket. "I think you have some broken ribs. It's hard to tell, but at least two. You're lucky you're not coughing up blood." He tore the blanket into strips and bound Eragon's chest.

Eragon slipped the shirt back on. "Yes... I'm lucky." He took a shallow breath, siddled over to Brom, and saw that someone had cut open the side of his robe to bandage the wound. With trembling fingers, he undid the bandage.

"I wouldn't do that," Murtagh warned. "He'll bleed to death without it."

Eragon ignored him and pulled the cloth away from Brom's side. The wound was short and thin, belying its depth. Blood streamed out of it. As he had learned when Garrow was injured, a wound inflicted by Ra'zac was slow to heal.

He peeled off his gloves while furiously searching his mind for the healing words Brom had taught him. " _Help me, Saphira. I am too weak to do this alone._ "

Saphira sat next to him, fixing her eyes on Brom. " _I am here, Eragon._ "

As her mind joined his, new strength infused his body. Eragon drew on their combined power and focused it on the words. " _Waíse heill!_ " He said. His palm glowed, and Brom's skin flowed back together as if it had never been broken. Murtagh watched the entire process with thinly veiled awe.

It was over quickly. As the light vanished, Eragon sat, feeling sick. " _We've never done that before,_ " he told Saphira.

The dragon nodded slightly. " _Together we can cast spells that are beyond either of us._ "

Murtagh examined Brom's side and asked, "Is he completely healed?"

"I can only mend what is on the surface. I don't know enough to fix whatever's damaged inside. It's up to him now. I've done all I can." Eragon closed his eyes for a moment, utterly spent. "My... my head seems to be floating in clouds."

"You probably need to eat," Murtagh said. "I'll prepare the rabbits."

While Murtagh fixed the meal, Eragon wondered after the strange beings that had come to his rescue, and then to the reaction of the Ra'zac. The Eliksni were unlike anything he had ever seen, but they were enough to scare off the Ra'zac. Yes, he thought to himself. _They are massive._

Eragon's attention was soon attracted to the sight of Murtagh's bow, sword, and horn. Either he was a thief or accustomed to money - and lots of it. _Why was he hunting the Ra'zac? What have they done to make him an enemy? I wonder if he works for the Varden._

Murtagh handed him a bowl of broth not long after. Eragon spooned it down and asked, "How long has it been since the Ra'zac fled?"

"A day and a half."

"We have to go before they return with reinforcements."

"We've traveled as much as we could already." Murtagh gestured to Brom. "You might be able to go one, but he can't. You don't get up and ride away after being stabbed between the ribs. Your friend had to beg the Eliksni to make a stop for Brom's sake."

"Why are they here?" Eragon asked.

"I don't know. I don't think they care about us, or Saphira, all that much. They want Tellesa. And she won't leave you." Murtagh shrugged. "Probably for the best we stay with them. If we try to leave, they might cut our throats to cover their tracks."

Eragon turned to Saphira. "W _e need to move. If we make a litter, can you carry Brom with your claws like you did Garrow?_ "

" _Yes, but landing will be awkward._ "

" _As long as it can be done._ " Eragon then addressed Murtagh. "Saphira can carry Brom, but we need a litter. Can you make one? I don't have the strength."

"Wait here." Murtagh left the camp. Eragon hobbled to his bags and picked up his bow from where it had been quickly packed away. He strung it, found his quiver, then retrieved Zar'roc. Last, he got a blanket for the litter.

Murtagh returned with two saplings. He laid them parallel on the ground, then lashed the blanket between the poles. He carefully dragged Brom onto the litter and, his work finished, fell back.

It was a few minutes later that Tellesa returned beside two of the Eliksni, including the largest of the band. Eragon could hardly register the size of it. It stood as tall as a man and half again. Its body was well armoured, and for those places that weren't covered by strange metal plate was a sleek grey material that was unlike any cloth he had ever laid eyes on. The helmet was a work of exotic, foreign art, with high wings that somehow gave it the Eliksni the impression of an eared owl. If so, it was the largest and meanest owl Eragon had ever laid eyes on. The legs and arms were built with compact muscle, just as armoured as the rest of the body, and each hand had two fingers and a thumb, all them tipped with hooked claws.

It was a relief to see Tellesa safe. She flashed him a sad smile, then breathed in deeply, her eyes settling on Brom's unmoving form with worry. She tilted her head in the largest Eliksni's direction. "This is Kiphoris. He's the... Captain, right?"

Kiphoris dipped his head. His glowing eyes seemed to bore into Eragon's soul.

"He's a Captain. The others are members of his crew. They're on their way back to rejoin the rest of the crew some distance south. He's promised us safety."

"In exchange for what?" Eragon asked nervously. He could feel Saphira's ire rising. She didn't trust, or like, the Eliksni.

Tellesa looked to Kiphoris. The Captain made a sound similar to Saphira's own growl and spoke in the common tongue. It was the voice of something else, but at the very least it was clear and comprehensible. "Nothing. Only answers and truths. I will decide mine-plan when I reach my crews. They are not far." He glanced in Brom's direction. "Can we walk?"

Eragon gulped. "Yes. Saphira can carry Brom. Thank you... for saving us."

Kiphoris once more inclined his head, then said something in his own language to his fellow. The other one, smaller and wearing a hood over its helmet, chuckled and brought a clawed hand against its chest. "Alkris," it said in a voice that bespoke of mirth, even through the language barrier.

The Rider hesitated, then pointed to himself. "Eragon."

"Eragon..." Alkris tried, awkwardly imitating the phrasing. It mastered it soon enough. "Eragon." It pointed to Tellesa. "Tellesa." It knew her name already. "Murtagh," it pointed to the other boy.

"Saphira," Eragon gestured to the dragon.

Alkris seemed almost giddy. His deep-throated laugh alleviated some of Eragon's fears. "Saphira."

"Alkris will guard you," Kiphoris told them. "Mine-scouts and I will move ahead and behind to catch scents of foes. If you need me, tell him _Ne kra kelisk._ "

" _Ne kra kelisk..._ " Eragon's mouth wasn't suited for the words, and he felt he butchered the pronunciation. It set Alkris laughing once more.

* * *

"What did he want to know?" Murtagh asked, once Kiphoris had left to gather the other members of his band. Alkris remained, but that Eliksni was heedless to their words. He was disassembling and reassembling a weapon reminiscent of Tellesa's own Tigerspite.

"Lots," Tellesa shrugged. "I answered as best I could, but what to say to most."

"What _did_ you answer?" Eragon questioned. He leaned against Saphira's flank.

"He wanted to know about Ikharos."

"The wizard?"

"Ye-es. The wizard. Even then, there wasn't much I could say. Kiphoris wanted to know about his magic, his ship, his prowess in combat, and his location. I refused to answer." She shuddered. "I hope I haven't made a mistake."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't think Kiphoris likes Ikharos. They might know each other, they might not, but... I don't know. This is just another damn mess..."

"Do you think he's telling the truth?" Eragon pressed. "About keeping us safe?"

"Yes. I didn't learn much, but I did gather that he is a... man? ... of his word. Eliksni hold honour in high regard." She looked up at Saphira. "He asked after you too. You remind him of something dangerous, but... you aren't it? I'm not sure."

" _Not dangerous?_ " The dragon narrowed her eyes and puffed smoke. " _Unwise._ "

* * *

Saphira grasped the saplings of the makeshift litter and laboriously took flight.

"I never thought I would see a sight like that," Murtagh said, an odd note in his voice.

As Saphira disappeared into the dark sky, Eragon limped to Cadoc and hoisted himself painfully into the saddle. "Thanks for helping us. You should leave now. Ride as far away from us as you can. You'll be in danger if the empire finds you with us, and I wouldn't see harm come to you on our account."

"A pretty speech," Murtagh said, kicking dirt and sand over the fire. "But have you anywhere to go beyond where the Eliksni take you? Is there a place nearby you can rest in safety?"

"No," Eragon admitted.

Murtagh's eyes glinted as he fingered the hilt of his sword. "In that case, I think I'll accompany you until you're out of danger. Who knows, it might be safer for me to stay near these people." He indicated Alkris. The Eliksni made a barking sound, which the rest of his kind answered some distance away. It reminded Eragon of a pack of wolves, working in tandem despite being out of sight of one another. "Besides, if I stay with you, I might get another shot at the Ra'zac sooner than if I were on my own. Interesting things are bound to happen around a Rider."

Eragon wavered, unsure if he should accept help from a complete stranger. Yet he was unpleasantly aware that he was too weak to force the issue either way. And he trusted Murtagh more than he did their unusual escorts. _If Murtagh proves untrustworthy, Saphira can always chase him away._ "Join us if you wish."

Murtagh nodded and mounted his gray warhorse. Tellesa, already upon her mare, led the way. Alkris broke into a run alongside them, using all six of his limbs to scramble across the landscape, keeping up the steeds with relative ease despite the weight of his armour and equipment. It further unnerved Eragon, but it was also a comfort. He doubted the Ra'zac or the soldiers under their lead would dare strike against them again.

Though he wanted to question Murtagh further, he kept silent, conserving his energy for riding. Near dawn Saphira said, " _I must stop. My wings are tired and Brom needs attention. I discovered a good place to stay, about two miles ahead of where you are._ "

Eragon told Tellesa, and she in turn gave the message for Alkris to fetch the Captain. The Eliksni raced away with a startling burst of speed and returned with the larger creature. He too traveled on all limbs for speed, but as he neared he lifted up to lumber on his powerful legs. They told Kiphoris what Saphira said, and he bellowed loudly for his scouts to join them.

They found Saphira sitting at the base of a broad sandstone formation that curved out of the ground like a great hill. Its sides were pocked with caves of varying sizes. Similar domes were scattered throughout the landscape. Saphira looked pleased with herself. " _I have found a cave that can't be seen from the ground. It's large enough for all of us, including the horses. And Kiphoris. Follow me._ " She turned and climbed up the sandstone, her sharp claws digging into the rock. The horses had difficulty, as their shod hooves could not grip the sandstone. Eragon and Murtagh had to pull and shove the animals for almost an hour before they managed to reach the cave. All progress had almost been lost when one of the Eliksni roared and startled the beasts. Kiphoris had been quick to scold the perpetrator.

The cavern was a good hundred feet long and more than twenty feet wide, yet it had a small opening that would protect them from bad weather and prying eyes. Darkness swallowed the far end, clinging to the walls like mats of soft black wool.

"Impressive," Murtagh said. "I'll gather wood for a fire."

Kiphoris spoke to one of his followers, then said to the humans, "Viltrus will go with you. Walk-swift."

Eragon hurried to Brom. Saphira had set him on a small rock ledge at the rear of the cave. Eragon clasped Brom's limp hand and anxiously watched his craggy face. Tellesa joined him mere seconds later.

"How is he?" She asked.

"Not well," Eragon croaked. The elder appeared paler than ever before. After a few minutes, he sighed and went to the fire Murtagh had built. They ate quietly, listening to the speech of the Eliksni, then tried to give Brom water, but the old man would not drink. Stymied, they spread out their bedrolls and slept while Saphira and Kiphoris kept watch.


	21. Peaks of Sorrow III

Five Eliksni congregated outside the mouth of the cave. They left Viltrus to watch over the humans; his brother, Viltriks, would relay all that had been said to him later.

Alkris was the first to speak, his voice tinted with good humour. "I like them."

"The humans?" Viltriks asked.

"What else?"

"Their beasts. They look appetizing."

"You only ever think about food, yes?" Paltis poked his side. Viltriks bristled and bared his teeth beneath his helm.

"Enough," Kiphoris sternly said. They quietened and looked to him. He, in turn, turned his attention to Alkris. "You approve of this?"

Alkris shrugged noncommittally. "I enjoy working with them, but that does not mean I think this strategy is wise."

"You don't?"

"I didn't say that either."

"Well, say something!" Paltis snapped. Her mate nearly jumped with fright.

"I, ah, don't know? I'm interested, Captain, to see where the path leads, but I don't know whether an alliance with humans would be to our benefit, if it does bear fruit. This is more likely a waste of our banner's time and resources, which could be better spent building up to oppose Krinok. Even if it was to work, if it is to our advantage, is this the way to do it? Who's to say that these humans represent their kind? What if they are bannerless?"

Melkras grunted. "That is true. They are fleeing others of their kind. The Bone-Pickers had a strong scent of humans on them; they could be aligned with a greater banner."

Kiphoris listened and tried his best to account for where they all stood on the matter. He valued his crew's input. A Captain would be hard pressed to lead if they neglected those who followed them. Still, he was entitled to his own voice and words. "I will not turn on them. I have given them an oath."

"An oath of honour?" Paltis asked.

"It is. Even if it weren't, I would be compelled to see them safe from the Bone-Pickers. They are young and desperate. It is a question of morality."

"What of the Kell?" Viltriks inquired. "If it comes to it, would you choose your humans over the Kell?"

"My oath to the Kell is older and takes precedence, but it will not come to that. Understood?"

The Marauders all nodded.

"What happens when we reach the Skiffs?" Melkras asked. "Will we take them with us to Tarrhis? I do not know if we can fit the blue beast in a Skiff."

Paltis laughed. "That would be a sight!"

Kiphoris rumbled. "I am contemplating the matter."

"Captain, it will not take us much longer. Even at their pace, it wouldn't be much more than a local rotation. We have saved them already. Send them away. Let them go find their own path."

"No. I will not, I have already told you."

"Then I hope you find a solution soon, for we cannot dally with the banner's future at stake."

Kiphoris suppressed a roar of frustration. That would be unseemly. "So be it. I will talk with them, but my solution is thus: I will send them back onto their intended travels with a warrior to guard and guide them."

"I'll do it," Alkris said without a moment's hesitation.

Paltis smacked the back of his helm. "Think, you fool!"

"Ow!" His eyes brightened. "I was thinking!"

"No, you weren't."

"I was!" Alkris defended angrily. "Kiphoris-Captain is right. We cannot waste entire crews on guarding them, yet I do not want to see harm befall them. They are children."

"Not ours."

"No," the Marauder spat bitterly. "Ours was lost to us."

A sombre silence fell over the gathered Eliksni. Paltis was struck speechless.

"We will not have heirs, mine-Paltis." Alkris continued, his tone softening. "Regardless, I will see to it that mine-legacy will not be one of disgrace. When they speak of Alkris, the Gunrunner, they will say this: He was an _eliko_ of honour, he faced his foes without fear, and he honoured his allies. If I do not do this, and the humans fall along their path, I will never recover from the shame."

"So they are your heirs?!" Paltis erupted. Even Kiphoris, largest among them, flinched for the sheer ferocity in her voice. "The _humans?!_ They look like Cabal! They are weak, they are unthinking, they are-"

"Watch your words, Marauder," Kiphoris warned. "I have loved humans as kin. I have seen mighty Kells fall to their strength. I have borne witness to the grand works of their minds, rivaling all we had before the Whirlwind took Riis from us. Watch your words, lest I take them as a challenge."

Paltis bristled, though said nothing. Kiphoris made a note to keep his eyes on her. Petty rages were the seeds of mutiny.

"I do not claim them as heirs," Alkris said carefully. He was treading murky waters. "But I feel sympathy. They worry for their sire, as I worried for mine during our war with Winter. They are lost, just as we were when Taniks murdered our Kell and shattered our banner. They are afraid of being hunted - a fear we knew when the Hive sensed our weakness and sought our end."

"Fine!" Paltis snarled and looked away. "Then I will join you, fool."

Alkris' outer eyes closed in gratitude. He placed a hand over her one of her own. "Thank you, mine-Paltis."

A few moments passed, then Viltriks clacked his mandibles. "Yes, very good, but you will starve."

Melkras groaned. "You ruined it, Stonehopper."

"What?!"

"Enough," Kiphoris ordered. He looked at Alkris. "I will send you off with a converter from a dead Servitor. If you damage it in any way, I will take your arms."

"I will care for it as if it were a hatchling," the Marauder vowed.

"The humans still won't understand their words," Viltriks pointed out. "Only you know their tongue, mine-Captain."

Kiphoris tapped the side of his helmet. "I have a vocal synthesizer to help me speak their tongue. Mine helmet is built to help me speak to them. I will have the High Servitor replicate the function for you both. It will take some time, but the human tongue is not as difficult as the horrid speech of Cabal, so you will learn if you dedicate yourselves."

"I will do that," Alkris promised. A thought seemed to strike the Marauder. "Captain, you speak of previously encountering humans, but it must have been a long time ago. I have been with your crew from near the beginning of your rule and we never encountered any."

The Captain sighed and dropped his head. " _Eia_ _,_ it was a long time ago, when I was of the Wolves."

"What happened?"

"Our Kell challenged humans. The humans won and killed him. Another Kell rose. He was... unworthy, like Krinok, but we followed out of honour and fear. The humans defeated him also, and locked him away. The human Kell became our Kell." He paused. "I was not locked away. I was only a Vandal when it occurred. Those humans were different - cousins of the kind we guard. They had magic, but not Hive-magic. They were unlike anything I had ever seen. They made beautiful homes out of nothing but ruins and rock."

"What happened?" Melkras asked.

"Our old Kell was released. Honour demanded we return to his wrong-rule. And I... had nothing else left." Kiphoris stood. "It does not matter. Let us speak of something else."

* * *

_Kiphoris shoved the handful of cytogel grains into the wound, but even he knew it was useless. It could stem the bleeding, not patch up a lung._

_One of his hands cupped the back of Lima's head. He listened, paralyzed with sheer horror, as she rasped and coughed her last. Her chin was covered in blood._

_Her eyes were still bright green, glowing like stars. He could see the smile in them._

_"Come, Vandal!" A Captain bellowed, grabbing his shoulder and forced him to his feet._

_"But..." He began. He faltered upon seeing her breath stall, her head loll back_

_"But nothing!" The Wolf Captain yelled at him. "To the ships! Skolas-kel rallies the banner!"_

**000**

" _Wake up Eragon._ " He stirred and groaned. " _I need your help. Something is wrong!_ " Eragon tried to ignore the voice and return to sleep. " _Arise!_ "

" _Go away,_ " he grumbled.

" _Eragon!_ " A bellow rang in the cave. He bolted upright, fumbling for his bow. Saphira was crouched over Brom, who had rolled off the ledge and was thrashing on the cave floor. His face was contorted into a grimace; his fists were clenched. Eragon rushed over, fearing the worst.

"Help me hold him down!" Tellesa ordered both him and Murtagh, rushing to the elder's side. "He's going to hurt himself!"

Ergon clasped Brom's arm. His side burned sharply as the old man spasmed. Together, they restrained Brom until his convulsions ceased. Then they carefully returned him to the ledge. One of the Eliksni - he didn't know its name - had rushed inside and watched helplessly from a distance. " _Das hus di?_ "

Eragon touched Brom's forehead. The skin was so hot that the heat could be felt an inch away. "Get me water and a cloth," he demanded worriedly. Murtagh brought them, and Eragon gently wiped Brom's face, trying to cool him down. WIth the cave quiet again, he noticed the sun shining outside. " _How long did we sleep?_ " He asked Saphira.

" _A good while. I've been watching Brom for most of that time. He was fine until a minute ago when he started thrashing. I woke you once he fell to the floor._ "

He stretched, wincing as his ribs twinged painfully. A hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Brom's eyes snapped open and fixed a glassy stare on Eragon. "You," he gasped. "Bring me the wineskin."

"Brom?" Eragon exclaimed, pleased to hear him talk. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."

"Bring it, boy - just bring it..." Brom sighed. His hand slipped off Eragon's shoulder.

"I'll be right back - hold on." Eragon dashed to the saddlebags and rummaged through them frantically. "I can't find it!" He cried, looking around desperately.

"Here, take mine," Murtagh said, holding out a leather skin.

Eragon grabbed it and returned to Brom. "I have the wine," he said, kneeling. Murtagh retreated to the cave's mouth to allow them privacy. He heard the other boy tell the Eliksni " _Ne kra kelisk._ "

" _Das Veskirisk!_ " It cried, running off.

Brom's next words were faint and indistinct. "Good..." He moved his arm weakly. "Now... wash my right hand with it."

"What-" Eragon started to ask.

"No questions! I haven't time."

Mystified, Eragon unstoppered the wineskin and poured the liquid onto Brom's palm. He rubbed it in, spreading it around the fingers and over the back of the hand. "More," croaked Brom. Eragon splashed wine onto his hand again. He scrubbed vigorously as a brown dye floated off Brom's hand, then stopped, his mouth agape with amazement. There, on Brom's hand, was the gedwëy ignasia.

"You're a Rider?" Tellesa asked incredulously.

A painful smile flickered on Brom's face. "Once upon a time that was true... but not anymore. When I was young... younger than either of you are now, I was chosen... chosen by the Riders to join their ranks. While they trained me, I became friends with another apprentice... Morzan, before he was a Forsworn." Eragon gasped - that had been over a hundred years ago. "But then he betrayed us to Galbatorix... and in the fighting at Dorú Areaba - Vroengard's city - my young dragon was killed. Her name... was Saphira."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Eragon asked softly.

Brom laughed. "Because... there was no need to." He stopped. His breathing was labored; his hands were clenched. "I am old, Eragon... so old. Though my dragon was killed, my life has been longer than most. You don't know what it is to reach my age, look back, and realize that you don't remember much of it; then to look forward and know that many years still lie ahead of you... After all this time I still grieve for my Saphira... and hate Galbatorix for what he tore from me." His feverish eyes drilled into Eragon as he said fiercely, "Don't let that happen to you. Don't! Guard Saphira with your life, for without her it's hardly worth living."

"You shouldn't talk like this. Nothing's going to happen to her," Eragon stated, worried.

Brom turned his head to the side. "Perhaps I am rambling." His gaze passed blindly over Murtagh, briefly lingered on Tellesa, then focused on Eragon. "I cannot last much longer. This... is a grievous wound; it saps my strength. I have not the energy to fight it. Before I go, will you take my blessing?"

"Everything will be alright," Eragon said, tears in his eyes. "You don't have to do this."

"It is the way of things... I must. Will you take my blessing?" Eragon bowed his head and nodded, overcome with emotion. Brom placed a trembling hand on his brow. "Then I give it to you. May the coming years bring you great happiness." He motioned for Eragon to bend closer. Very quietly, he whispered seven words from the ancient language, then even more softly told him what they meant. "That is all I can give you... Use them only in great need."

The elder brought his gaze back to Tellesa. "Take care of them."

"I will," she promised shakily.

Brom blindly turned his eyes to the ceiling. "And now," he murmured, "for the greatest adventure of all..."

Weeping, Eragon held his hand, comforting him as best he could. His vigil was unwavering and steadfast. A gray pallor crept over Brom, and his eyes slowly dimmed. His hands grew icy; the air around him took on an evil humour. Powerless to help, Eragon could only watch as the Ra'zac's wound took its toll.

When Brom stiffened, Eragon called his name and cried for help, but they could do nothing. As a barren silence dampened the air, Brom locked eyes with Eragon's. Then contentment spread across the old man's face, and a whisper of breath escaped his lips. And so it was that Brom the storyteller died.

Eragon was dimly aware of Tellesa sitting beside him, sharing the burden of mourning. He felt Saphira's presence nearby, feeling the loss as keenly as he did. He didn't even know the Eliksni had returned until a huge shadow fell over him and an inhuman hand softly fell on his shoulder.

"I am sorry," he heard Kiphoris say gruffly, but not unkindly.

With shaking fingers, Eragon closed Brom's eyes and stood. Saphira raised her head behind him and roared mournfully at the sky, keening her lamentation. Tears rolled down Eragon's cheeks as a sense of horrible loss bled through him. Haltingly, he said, "We have to bury him."

"We will," Tellesa replied, looking to the Captain. Kiphoris dipped his head after only a moment. The two of them bore Brom's body out of the cave, along with his sword and staff. The other Eliksni stepped aside and watched in respectful silence. Saphira followed them. "To the top," Eragon said thickly, indicating the crown of the sandstone hill.

"We can't dig a grave out of stone," Murtagh objected.

"I can do it."

Eragon climbed onto the smooth hilltop, struggling because of his ribs. There, Tellesa and Kiphoris lay Brom on the stone.

Eragon wiped his eyes and fixed his gaze on the sandstone. Gesturing with his hand, he said, " _Moi stenr!_ " The stone rippled. It flowed like water, forming a body-length depression in the hilltop. Molding the sandstone like wet clay, he raised waist-high walls around it. He heard rather than saw the Eliksni present exhale sharply through their helmets. Kiphoris said something to the others, and he heard no further complaint from them.

They laid Brom inside the unfinished sandstone vault with his staff and sword. Stepping back, Eragon again shaped the stone with magic. It joined over Brom's motionless face and plowed upward into a tall faceted spire. As a final tribute, Eragon set runes into the stone:

_Here lies Brom_

_Who was a Dragon Rider_

_And like a father_

_To me._

_May his name live on in glory._

Then he bowed his head and mourned freely. He stood like a living statue until evening, when light faded from the land.

That night he dreamed of the imprisoned woman again.

_He could tell that something was wrong with her. Her breathing was irregular, and she shook - whether from cold or pain, he did not know. In the semi darkness of the cell, the only thing clearly illuminated was her hand, which hung over the edge of the cot. A dark liquid dripped from the tips of her fingers. Eragon knew it was blood._

* * *

When Eragon woke, his eyes were gritty, his body stiff. The cave was empty except for the horses. The litter was gone; no sign of Brom remained. He walked to the entrance and sat on the pitted sandstone. _So the witch Angela was correct - there was a death in my future,_ he thought, staring bleakly upon the rolling hills of rock and sand. The topaz sun brought a desert heat to the early morning.

A tear slid down his listless face and evaporated in the sunlight, leaving a salty crust on his skin. He closed his eyes and absorbed the warmth, emptying his mind. With a fingernail, he aimlessly scratched the sandstone. When he looked, he saw he had written _Why me?_

He was still there when Murtagh and Alkris climbed up to the cave, carrying three rabbits and a large bird he didn't recognize. Without a word, the other boy seated himself by Eragon, while the Eliksni carried the catch into the cave.

"How are you?" Murtagh asked.

"Very ill."

Murtagh considered him thoughtfully. "Will you recover?" Eragon shrugged. After a few minutes of reflection, Murtagh spoke up, "I dislike asking at such a time, but I must know... Is your Brom _the_ Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the king, chased it across the empire, and killed Morzan in a duel? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain. Was that him?"

"It was," Eragon replied softly. A troubled expression settled on Murtagh's face. "How do you know all that? You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra'zac just as they caught us. Are you one of the Varden?"

Murtagh's eyes became inscrutable orbs. "I'm running away, like you." There was a restrained sadness in his words. "I do not belong in either the Varden or the empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself. As for tracking the Ra'zac, I will admit that I've heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by following the Ra'zac I might discover if they were true."

"I thought you wanted to kill the Ra'zac," Eragon said.

Murtagh smiled grimly. "I do, but if I had, I never would have met you."

 _But Brom would still be alive..._ Eragon didn't have it in him to be angry anymore. _I wish he were here. He would know whether to trust Murtagh._ Eragon remembered how Brom had sensed a man's intentions in Daret and wondered if he could do the same with Murtagh. He reached for Murtagh's consciousness, but his probe abruptly ran into an iron-hard wall, which he tried to circumvent. Murtagh's entire mind was fortified. _How did he learn to do that? Brom said that few people, if any, could keep others out of their mind without training. So who is Murtagh to have this ability? He paused. What of Tellesa? Has she the same? Or the Eliksni? I don't think I should try with them. It might antagonize them if my actions are discovered._ Pensive and lonely, Eragon asked, "Where is Saphira?"

"I don't know," Murtagh answered. "She followed me for a time when I went hunting with Alkris, then flew off on her own. I haven't seen her since before noon." Eragon rocked onto his feet and returned to the cave. Murtagh followed. "What are you going to do now?"

They found Alkris sipping a strange liquid from a metallic flask and skinning the kills all at once. "I'm not sure," Eragon replied, stopping to watch for a brief moment. _And I don't want to think about it either._ He rolled up his blankets and tied them to Cadoc's saddlebags. His ribs hurt. As Eragon shifted things in his bags, he uncovered Zar'roc. The red sheath glinted brightly. He took out the sword and weighed it in his hands.

He had never carried Zar'roc nor used it in combat - except when he had sparred with Brom and Tellesa - because he had not wanted people to see it. That concerned Eragon no more. The Ra'zac had seemed surprised and frightened at once by the sight of it; that was more than enough reason for him to wear it. With shudder he pulled off his bow and belted on Zar'roc. _From this moment on, I'll live by the sword. Let the whole world see what I am. I have no fear. I am a Rider now, fully and completely._

He sorted through Brom's bags but found only clothes, a few odd items, and a small pouch of coins. Eragon took the map of Alagaësia and put the bags away, then sat by the fire. Murtagh's eyes narrowed as he looked away from the Eliksni at work. "That sword. May I see it?"

Eragon hesitated, reluctant to relinquish the weapon for even a moment, then nodded. Murtagh examined the symbol on the blade intently. His features darkened. "Where did you get this?"

"Brom gave it to me. Why?"

Murtagh shoved the sword back and crossed his arms angrily. He was breathing hard. "That sword," he growled, "was once as well known as its owner. The last Rider to carry it was Morzan - a brutal, savage man. I thought you were a foe of the empire, yet here I find you bearing one of the Forsworn's bloody swords!"

Alkris gave them a warning growl, but Eragon only stared at Zar'roc with shock. He realized that Brom must have taken it from Morzan after they fought in Gil'ead. "Brom never told me where it came from," he said truthfully. "I had no idea it was Morzan's."

"He never told you?" Murtagh questioned, a note of disbelief in his voice. Eragon shook his head. "That's strange. I can think of no reason for him to have concealed it."

"Neither can I. But then, he kept many secrets," Eragon said. It felt unsettling to hold the sword of the man who had betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix. _This blade probably killed many Riders in its time,_ he thought with revulsion. _And worse, dragons!_ "Even so, I'm going to carry it. I don't have a sword of my own. Until such time as I get one, I'll use Zar'roc."

Murtagh flinched as Eragon said the name. "It's your choice," he muttered.

They were cast into darkness as something large reared up before the mouth of the cave. Kiphoris was forced to duck his head to avoid the edge of his helmet catching onto the rock, just as Saphira was forced to with her horns. The Captain looked between the two, conversed very briefly with Alkris, then marched further in to reach them. Tellesa was behind him, formerly obscured from view by the Eliksni's large frame and heavy cloak.

"We must speak," Kiphoris said. He sat against the cave wall. He looked at Eragon in particular. "How fare you?"

"Not well," he admitted. His hand ghosted over his wound. "I ache, but I will heal in time."

"That is good, yes?"

"Yes," Eragon agreed. The Captain - over all the others - unnerved him the most. It seemed so unbelievable that something that stood and walked like a man could be so large.

Tellesa cleared her throat. Her eyes were red. She had shed her own tears. "We need to discuss what comes next."

Eragon hadn't thought of that. "I have to sell my horse." He said.

"Why not Brom's?" Murtagh asked.

"Snowfire? Because Brom promised to take care of him. Since he... isn't around, I'll do it for him."

Murtagh nodded. "If that's what you want, I'm sure we can find a buyer in some town or village."

"We?" Eragon asked. "You'll continue to travel with us?"

Murtagh looked at him in a calculating way. "You won't want to stay for much longer. If the Ra'zac are nearby, and with enough soldiers to fight the Eliksni, Brom's tomb will be like a beacon for them." Eragon had not thought of that. "And your ribs are going to take time to heal, as you said. You'll need a companion who can lift things and help out," he gave a sideways glance to Kiphoris. "Someone who understands what you say."

Tellesa huffed. "That would be me."

"Extra help, then." Murtagh bowed his head. "I'm asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the empire is searching for me. There'll be blood over it eventually."

Eragon laughed weakly and found himself crying because it hurt so much. Once his breath was back, he said, "I don't care if the entire army is searching for you. I would be glad to have you along, though I have to talk to Tellesa and Saphira about it. But I have to warn _you_ , Galbatorix just _might_ send the entire army after me. You won't be any safer with Saphira and me than if you were on your own."

"I know that," Murtagh said with a quick grin. "But all the same, it won't stop me."

"Good." Eragon smiled with gratitude.

Saphira crawled in, barely squeezing past Alkris. The Eliksni squawked with displeasure, then returned to slicing the meat into portions. The dragon ignored him and greeted Eragon. She was glad to see him, but there was a deep sadness in her thoughts and words. She laid her big blue head on the floor and asked, " _Are you well again?_ "

" _Not quite._ "

" _I miss the old one._ "

" _As do I... I never suspected that he was a Rider. Brom! He really was an old man - as old as the Forsworn. Everything he taught me about magic he must have learned from the Riders themselves._ " Eragon closed his eyes. " _He kept more than that secret._ " He told her about Zar'roc and Murtagh's reaction to it. " _I understand now why Brom didn't explain Zar'roc's origins when he gave it to me. If he had, I probably would have run away from him at the first opportunity._ "

" _You would do well to rid yourself of that sword,_ " she said with distaste. " _I know it's a peerless weapon, but you would be better off with a normal blade than Morzan's butchery tool._ "

" _Perhaps_ _._ " He opened his eyes to find Kiphoris watching him closely.

The Captain rumbled, "You have... magic?"

Eragon hesitated. " _Saphira, what do I say?_ "

She turned her head to look Kiphoris in the eye. " _I do not know. They have given us little reason to distrust them. I doubt lying will work in any case; they saw you perform already._ "

He took a breath and rallied his courage. _I am a Rider. I must be brave._ "I do."

Kiphoris accepted it readily enough. "I have seen magic. Magic of great witches, twin-souls scarred. Do many have magic?"

"No," he answered truthfully. "They do not."

"The king employs spellcasters, but they are few and far between," Tellesa explained. "And the king is a magician - likely the most powerful of all."

"The king?" Kiphoris asked. "You must tell me of who holds power."

Eragon was thankful that Tellesa took over. He doubted he had the energy for it. She explained the empire, the king, the tyranny of the Imperials, and the rebellious movements that culminated into the Varden. She briefly went over the matter of Dragon Riders, and then the rebellion of the Forsworn which gave rise to the current government. The Captain listened without saying a word.

During this time, Eragon decided to risk it all and once more opened up his consciousness, reaching out with his mind to those around him. He was surprised to find that Tellesa - who had never given any indication of understanding magic - had a defense to rival that of Murtagh. It was, perhaps, even more formidable - a solid sphere with a surface upon which he could find no grip.

The mind of Kiphoris was a different matter. Everything was... strange. Nothing made sense. There were measures taken against mental assault, but they were unlike any he had ever known before. It was like a myriad of palisades, walls sprung up to form a complex maze. Eragon could sense within a startling and ancient intelligence, one both primal and sophisticated.

"This king," Kiphoris said slowly. "Galbatorix." He had trouble forming the word. "He is not welcomed by humans?"

"No," Tellesa answered. "He is not."

"This is troubling. Mine-Eliksni do not know where to walk."

"Why are you here?" Murtagh spoke up.

Kiphoris made a clicking sound - like a dozen knives tapping against one another. "War with our own. Usurper rises to take the banner of _Kalakhselen_ _._ Mine-Baron, leader of mine-oath, swears to restore order. Our great ship was wounded and collapsed nearby. Usurper grasps control of it. Loyal-Eliksni leave to gather, recover, and fight."

"You're fighting a civil war," Tellesa surmised. "What is... _kalakh... sel-_ "

" _Kalakhselen_ is our banner. Our House. _Stern sires_. We are named the Scars in your tongue."

"Scars... Why?"

"For Scars bear heavy wounds and carry onwards. Scars fight often," Kiphoris explained. He paused. "We are close to mine-crews. We must talk of future."

Eragon thought for a moment. " _Saphira, where does our path go from here? With them? Murtagh offered to come with us. I don't know his past, but he seems honest enough. Should we go to the Varden now? Only I don't know how to find them. Brom never told us._ "

" _He told me,_ " Saphira said.

Eragon grew angry. " _Why did he trust you, but not me, with all this knowledge?_ "

Her scales rustled over the dry rock as she stood above him, eyes profound. " _After we left Teirm and were attacked by Urgals, he told me many things, some of which I will not speak of unless necessary. He was concerned about his death and what would happen to you after it. One fact he imparted to me was the name of a man, Dormnad, who lives in Gil'ead. He can help us find the Varden. Brom also wanted you to know that of all the people in Alagaësia, he believed you were the best suited to inherit the Riders' legacy._ "

Tears welled up in Eragon's eyes. This was the highest praise he could ever have received from Brom. " _A responsibility I will bear honourably._ "

" _Good._ "

" _We will go to Gil'ead then,_ " he stated, strength and purpose returning to him. " _And what of Murtagh? I trust Tellesa, but do you think he too should come with us?_ "

" _He helped us when no one else could._ " Saphira said. Then, " _But even if that weren't so, he has seen both you and me. We should keep him close so he doesn't furnish the empire with our location and descriptions, willingly or not._ "

" _What of the Eliksni?_ "

" _We owe them our lives._ " She unhappily admitted. " _They deserve the truth. Some of it._ "

" _What if the empire catches them?_ "

Saphira found that idea amusing. " _I don't think they will. The Ra'zac feared them; and with good reason. They are strong enough to hold their own and fast enough to make their escape. And they have numbers._ "

The decision made, Eragon told the others about the plan.

Murtagh said, "If you find this Dormnad and then continue on to the Varden, I will leave you. Encountering the Varden would be as dangerous for me as walking unarmed into Urû'baen with a fanfare of trumpets to announce my arrival."

"We won't have to part anytime soon," Eragon explained. "It's a long way to Gil'ead."

"I do not know this land," Kiphoris said. "What is Gil'ead?"

Tellesa grabbed a map from her pack and rolled it out. "This is Alagaësia. Gil'ead is here," she pointed to a dot in the north of the empire. "And we are around here," this time to seemingly nothing, just the open landscape somewhere between Dras-Leona and Urû'baen.

"It is far. And in the empire." Kiphoris looked to the mouth of the cave. They followed his gaze to Alkris. "It is dangerous. I do not like this danger."

"Why are you concerned about our welfare?" Murtagh asked.

The question caught the Captain by surprise. He took a moment to think before answering. "I met humans before. I am honour-bound to pay debts to them, but they are gone. I will try to repay debts with you." More quietly, "I think she would want that." He stood at his full height, as tall as Saphira was. "I wish to make allies, for mine-banner is unable to leave. We must survive. I do not like this king. He is as terrible as Cabal." Eragon briefly wondered what he meant by that. Kiphoris continued. "I will give warriors to keep you safe to the Varden. I must go to mine-crews and join Tarrhis-Mrelliks for war. They are not far."

"Are we going with you?" Tellesa questioned.

Kiphoris shook his head. "No. Alkris and Paltis have decided to stay with you and ensure your safety. I ask you to wait while I prepare them. Viltriks and Melkras will watch you while we go on. It will not take long." He stopped moving and looked directly at Tellesa. "We must speak of _Sha'ir_."

She opened her mouth, closed, then opened it again. A frown crept over her face. "Why?"

"I am honour-bound. I must seek it out."

"You want to kill him."

"Do not die, yes? I am honour-bound. I must know _Sha'ir._ I must face them. They are too dangerous."

"He's a friend of mine." Tellesa crossed her arms, giving the Eliksni a stern look. The initial fear of the strange creatures - which still held Eragon - had long since disappeared from her. She was bold to deny the Captain, that was for sure.

Kiphoris growled. "It is of honour. _Sha'ir_ and _Mraskilaasan_ fight before. Mine-banner of old must be honoured."

Tellesa glared right back. "You won't beat him."

"Does not matter."

"You're willing to die for honour?"

Without hesitation, "Yes. It is everything-mine."

"I won't give him up."

"Gah!" The Captain stormed away.

"What was _that?_ " Murtagh asked. Tellesa ignored him and marched out of the cave.

**000**

Kiphoris left the humans with the two Marauders as the bright day fell to darkness and carried onwards. No longer slowed by the humans, the Eliksni raced ahead to rejoin their brethren. Even if they had no radio to receive coordinates, they could have zoned in on the temporary camp by smell alone. The scent of ether, even faint, stood out against all the others in the clean, breathable air.

The crews had settled in a small dusty valley, posting sentries on the low hills to watch for encroaching foes. The rest settled by the three Skiffs landed in an area where large boulders provided adequate cover. Even there Kiphoris could see the gleam of eyes peeking through the scopes of wire rifles, the watchful gazes of even more guards. The Captain nodded to himself - Raksil had done well.

Their arrival went without ceremony, as many were feeding from their shares of the generous amounts of ether. Kiphoris wondered if the living state of the planet they found themselves on contributed to ether production. He had heard - from Kings and Devils who fled Earth - that Servitors on the human homeworld were particularly efficient. He had tasted of the ether from Winter Servitors fed on Venus and found it more potent, so it must have been true. Those who noticed lowered their heads in submission and acknowledged Kiphoris' return. He passed by without responding and headed straight for the ships.

He joined the Baron's heir by the Skiffs. The young warrior, upon seeing him, practically shoved the silver token of Captain back to Kiphoris.

"You had trouble?" Kiphoris asked curiously.

Raksil closed his inner eyes. "No, mine-Captain. They followed my orders. We moved frequently, as you advised."

"Then what is the issue?"

"I do not like commanding outside of battle. I do not like having lives depending on my every decision."

"That is command in its truest form, Raksil-Devoted, and your words are a good sign, yes? A good leader must care for his kin, his people, his crews. Have we heard from others?"

Raksil nodded. "Sundrass sends a message. She has seen smoke from Cabal warship."

"I trust she has not engaged them in war?"

"She has not. There was something else..."

"Oh? What is it?"

Raksil fumbled with the edge of his cloak. "She says, ah, to polish your armour when we next meet."

Kiphoris stopped dead. Then he began grumbling, "Gah, _psekiskar_ _._ "

"Captain?"

"It is nothing. Forget heard-words, Raksil. Better for us all." He exhaled. "We have encountered others."

"You have?" Raksil peered up at him. "What are they?"

"Humans. I do not think they are foes of ours - these few, in any case. I have left them guarded, for they are hunted by unpleasant creatures. Do you recall the tales of the Bone-Pickers?"

Raksil nodded. " _Eia,_ the most wicked of pests. Mine-sire slaughtered the last to bother our banner. You have seen some?"

"I have. They hunt the humans."

"They hunt humans? Are we to take them to safety?"

"They will not stay with us, for their path leads elsewhere. Their journey is full of peril-undeserving. I will see them healthy to their destination."

"But... how will we do that?"

Kiphoris exhaled. "I will send warriors with them. Two have volunteered."

"Will this earn us allies?"

"I do not know, only that they are not enemies and undeserving of slaughter. I will inform our Baron of this decision in my report. I hope that we might benefit from this."

Raksil clicked his mandibles together. "Was it not the humans who brought us down? Was it another?"

Kiphoris shook his head. " _Nama_ , I do not think it was their people. I hardly understand it, but these humans have little in forms of machinery. They are like us from before Elder Days. What flies above is their work, but work of ancestors, of banners-forgotten. I have seen it before. What wounded the Monoliks-Syn is another creature, an angry child of the human mind forged of electricity and processing units." Kiphoris looked up at the clear sky. "I do not know why it ignores us now, but we must not provoke it. Its sibling once shattered an entire Cabal legion and outwitted their Flayers."

"Mighty indeed," Raksil exhaled.

A moment passed. "How fares our Kell?"

"He slumbers." The Vandal growled. "He is the bane of our existence."

"Hatchlings always are. Now, fetch me our High Servitor. I have need of it."

The Captain detached his vocal synthesizer and, when the High Servitor came by to warble at him, he presented it in cupped hands. The machine scanned the data found within, turned about, and opened a valve to push out Glimmer, which it then formed into identical gadgets.

"Be at ease, Obleker, be at ease," Kiphoris said. The High Servitor groaned and connected to the small devices with cables, uploading the information to their small, limited databanks. Once detached, it blinked its singular optic at him, awaiting instruction.

"You may return, Obleker," Kiphoris told it. It hummed and floated away.

* * *

He found Paltis and Alkris arguing with the quartermaster over batteries for their rifles. The unfazed Vandal stood back and crossed his arms, not budging an inch. "No more. Not after what you did last time," the quartermaster glared at Paltis.

She hissed.

"I've ordered it." Kiphoris towered over them all, looking at each in turn. "Give them three fusion discs each; it should be enough. And find an ether-converter. They will need it.

The Vandal bowed his head and delved into one of the Skiffs, coming back with the batteries that powered all their Arcarms. The Marauders delicately took them and put them away onto the bandoliers, belts, and pouches on their armour. They were well-armed, bearing a wire rifle and shock sword each, coupled with numerous knives and pistols. Once they were packed, they were allowed to feed, gulping down heavy amounts of ether and grabbing a handful of consumables each. The Splicers among them - who carefully tended to their Servitors - kindly allocated to them blocks of carefully preserved ether bales. The frozen ether wasn't near as pleasant as the fresh kind, but it lasted far longer. It would be necessary if their converter were to malfunction.

**000**

When Kiphoris returned, Tellesa's breath caught in her throat. Her fists shook by her side. If he pressed for the information, she wouldn't be near as polite as before.

Kiphoris said something to his people. Viltriks and Melkras grabbed their belongings and readied themselves to leave. Then, the Captain turned around to address her. "Alkris and Paltis will guard you. They will see you safely to the Varden and then return to me. The Bone-Pickers will not trouble you, but be wary." He reached back into his cloak and retrieved the form of an object familiar to her.

She grabbed the Tigerspite out of his hands and held it close. It was a relief to see it undamaged. "Thanks," she said awkwardly.

Kiphoris wasn't fazed. He reached for her arm. "You have Corsair-spirit. You inherit-earn this. I ask, last time, for _Sha'ir_ _._ "

Tellesa shook his hand off. "No. I'm not going to betray anyone."

He sighed, but brooked no further argument. Kiphoris left her be and looked to Eragon. "You are strong now, yes?"

The Rider nodded.

The Eliksni looked up. "And what of you? Will you fare well?" He asked Saphira. The dragon narrowed her blue eyes, then lowered her head. The Captain flinched - Tellesa knew that the dragon was speaking directly to his mind. He tentatively reached out and gently placed his hand against Saphira's snout. " _Nama... Eia..._ I am honour-bound. Mine-debts will be paid... Ah, they will fare well. They are strong."

Satisfied, Saphira pulled away. Kiphoris finally turned to Murtagh. "Be watchful, night-thief."

"... I will..." Murtagh muttered, eyeing the Eliksni suspiciously

"Farewell, humans." Kiphoris bowed his helm. He stepped away. Melkras and Viltriks followed him, leaving Paltis and Alkris.

**000**

"Are you strong enough to travel?" Murtagh asked, frowning.

"I have to do something or I'll go crazy," Eragon said brusquely. "Sparring, practicing magic, or sitting around twiddling my thumbs aren't good options right now, so I choose to ride."

They doused the campfire, packed, and led the horses out of the cave. Eragon handed Cadoc's and Snowfire's reins to Tellesa, saying, "Go on, I'll be right down."

Eragon struggled up the sandstone, resting when his side made it impossible to breathe. When he reached the top, he found Saphira already there. They stood together before Brom's grave and paid their last respects. _I can believe he's gone... forever._ As Eragon turned to depart, Saphira snaked out her long neck to touch the tomb with the tip of her nose. Her sides vibrated as a low humming filled the air.

The sandstone around her nose shimmered like gilded dew, turning clear with dancing silver highlights. Eragon watched in wonder as tendrils of white diamond twisted over the tomb's surface in a web of priceless filigree. Sparkling shadows were cast on the ground, reflecting splashes of brilliant colours that shifted dazzlingly as the sandstone continued to change. With a satisfied snort, Saphira stepped back and examined her handiwork.

The sculpted sandstone mausoleum of moments before had transformed into a sparkling gemstone vault - under which Brom's untouched face was visible. Eragon gazed with yearning at the old man, who seemed to be only sleeping.

" _What did you do?_ " He asked Saphira with awe.

" _I gave him the only gift I could. Now time will not ravage him. He can rest in peace for eternity._ "

" _Thank you._ " Eragon put a hand on her side, and they left together.

* * *

Riding was extremely painful for Eragon - his broken ribs prevented them from going faster than a walk, and it was impossible for him to breathe deeply without a burst of agony. Nevertheless, he refused to stop. Saphira walked alongside them, her mind linked with his for solace and strength.

Murtagh rode confidently beside Snowfire, flowing smoothly with the horse's movements. Eragon watched the grey animal for a while. "You have a beautiful animal. What's his name?"

"Tornac, after the man who taught me how to fight." Murtagh patted the horse's side. "He was given to me when he was just a foal. You'd be hard pressed to find a more courageous and intelligent animal in all of the empire."

"He is a magnificent beast," Eragon agreed admiringly.

Murtagh laughed. "Yes, but Snowfire is as close to his match as I've ever seen."

They weren't covering great distances that day, yet Eragon was glad to be on the move again. It kept his mind off other, more morbid matters. The perfect distraction came in the form of Alkris. The Eliksni lumbered beside the horses, easily keeping up with their relaxed pace just walking upright. He had begun to test out words in common, with some difficulty. Tellesa and Murtagh humoured him with small smiles and corrected any word he had difficulty forming. Eragon saw no reason not to join in.

They rode through unsettled lands. The road to Dras-Leona was several leagues to their left. They aimed to skirt the city by a large margin on the way to Gil'ead, which was almost as far to the north as Carvahall.

* * *

They sold Cadoc in a small village. As the horse was led away by his new owner, Eragon regretfully pocketed the few coins he had gained from the transaction. It was difficult to relinquish Cadoc after crossing half of Alagaësia - and outracing the Urgals - on him.

The days rolled by unnoticed as their small group traveled in isolation. Eragon was pleased to find that he and Murtagh shared many of the same interests; they spent hours debating the finer points of archery and hunting. He was glad to see that Saphira - who had once disliked the Eliksni - found some enjoyment in attempting to converse with Alkris and Paltis. Though the latter was short-tempered and aggressive, the former was easily likeable and almost always in high spirits, easily calming his companion. It boded well for the occasions they passed other travelers on the roads or delved into small settlements scattered throughout the empire, so that Saphira had both company and protection when she and the Eliksni had to part from the humans. It had been more than difficult to explain it to the two foreign warriors the first time it was necessary, but they found some semblance of understanding before long.

He found there was one topic he, Tellesa, and Murtagh avoided discussing by unspoken consent: their pasts. Eragon did not explain how he had found Saphira, met Brom, or where he came from, though he knew that Tellesa was familiar with some of that tale. Murtagh was likewise mute as to why the empire was chasing him. Tellesa refused to speak at any length about her past, leaving Eragon to only go on the few hints she had dropped in the past. It was a simple arrangement, but it worked and all were content.

Yet because of their proximity, it was inevitable that they learned about each other. Eragon was intrigued by Murtagh's familiarity with the power struggles and politics within the empire. He seemed to know what every noble and courtier was doing and how it affected everyone else. Eragon listened carefully, suspicions whirling through his mind.

The first week went by without any sign of the Ra'zac, which allayed some of Eragon's fears. It was different without Kiphoris' size and power, and though he feared the Captain, he hadn't known how much the presence of the large Eliksni had comforted him until it was gone. Eragon trusted Alkris and Paltis more readily - they were large, fast, and powerful simply because they were Eliksni, but they carried the same pride and strength their leader possessed. They were, for want of a better term, more like ordinary people.

They kept watches at night. Eragon expected to encounter Urgals on the way to Gil'ead, but they found no trace of them. _I thought these remote places would be teeming with monsters,_ he mused. _Still, I'm not one to complain if they've gone elsewhere._

He dreamed of the woman no more. And though he tried to scry her, he saw only an empty cell. Whenever they passed a town or village, he checked if it had a jail. If it did, he would disguise himself and visit it, but she was not to be found. His disguises became more elaborate as he saw notices featuring his name and description - and offering a substantial reward for his capture - posted in various towns.

Their travels forced them north towards the capital, Urû'baen. It was a heavily populated area, which made it difficult to escape notice. Soldiers patrolled the roads and guarded the bridges. It took them several tense, irritable days to skirt the capital.

Once they were safely past the city, they found themselves on the verge of a vast plain. It was the same one that Eragon had crossed after leaving Palancar Valley, except now he was on the opposite side. They kept to the perimeter of the plain and continued north, following the Ramr River.

Eragon's sixteenth birthday came and went during this time. At Carvahall a celebration would have been held for his entrance into adulthood, but in the wilderness he did not even mention it to the others.

At nearly six months of age, Saphira was much larger. Her wings were massive; every inch of them was needed to lift her muscular body and thick bones. The fangs that jutted from her jaw were nearly as thick around as Eragon's fist, their points as sharp as Zar'roc.

* * *

The day finally came when Eragon unwrapped his side for the last time. His ribs had healed completely, leaving him with only a small scar where the Ra'zac's boot had cut his side. As Saphira watched, he stretched slowly, then with increasing vigor when there was no pain, leaving him pleased. In an earlier time he would have smiled, but after Brom's death, such expressions did not come to him easily.

He tugged his tunic on and walked back to the small fire they had made. Murtagh and Paltis sat next to it, the former whittling a piece of wood. The Eliksni had removed her helmet, revealing a shock of bristly carmine hair running back over the centre of her skull. Her face was marked by plates of exoskeleton over her scalps and around her eye sockets. Most remarkable, however, was her mouth. It was filled with large serrated fangs curving back, designed to rip through flesh. The two mandibles on the lower jaw were tipped with large tusks on the end and likewise lined with fearsome teeth. Her nostrils were located between the inner two eyes, placed above the blue orbs. Her ears were like Saphira's; holes in the side of their skulls. It was as far from human as Eragon thought it could get, but the nervousness had faded some time after he had seen the Eliksni's bare heads.

Eragon drew Zar'roc. Murtagh tensed, though his face remained calm. Paltis didn't give any indication of noticing.

"Now that I am strong enough, would you like to spar?" Eragon asked.

Murtagh tossed the wood to the side. "With sharpened swords? We could kill each other."

"Here, give me your sword," Eragon said. Murtagh hesitated, then handed over his long hand-and-a-half blade. Eragon blocked the edges with magic, the way Brom had taught him. While Murtagh examined the blade, Eragon assuredsaid, "I can undo that once we're finished."

Murtagh checked the balance of his sword. Satisfied, he said, "It will do."

Eragon warded Zar'roc, settled into a crouch, then swung at Murtagh's shoulder. Their swords met in midair. Paltis yelped and glared at them. She moved away as Eragon disengaged with a flourish, then thrusted forward with a riposte that Murtagh parried and danced away from.

 _He's fast!_ Eragon thought.

They struggled back and forth, trying to batter each other down. After a particularly intense series of blows, Murtagh started laughing. Not only was it impossible for either of them to gain an advantage, but they were so evenly matched that they tired at the same rate. Acknowledging each other's skill, they fought on until their arms were leaden and sweat poured off their sides.

Finally, Eragon called, "Enough, halt!"

Murtagh stopped mid-blow and sat down with a gasp. Eragon staggered to the ground, his chest heaving. None of his fights with Brom had been this fierce. As he gulped air, Murtagh exclaimed, "You're amazing! I've studied swordplay all my life, but never have I fought one like you. You could be the king's weapon master if you wanted to."

"You're just as good," observed Eragon, still panting. "The man who taught you, Tornac, could make a fortune with a fencing school. People would come from all parts of Alagaësia to learn from him."

"He's dead," Murtagh said shortly.

"I'm sorry."

Paltis grumbled something and clacked her fangs, her displeasure evident. Her hands flew over the strange contraption she and Alkris had brought with them. When the others returned with animals bagged for supper, Alkris joined the other Eliksni and dropped a few items - rocks, some earth, and old bones of wild beasts - into the metal object. Paltis closed it. Not long after, they held cups to a valve on its side, catching a pale bluish liquid with the disposition of water. The two drank it eagerly.

Eragon wanted to ask, but he knew that it wouldn't garner any solid answers, so he stowed the question away for when they could communicate more efficiently.

"Fare?" Alkris asked with a heavy accent, having caught Eragon watching then. His outer two eyes narrowed, and the bright blue glow brightened.

Eragon nodded. "I am well."

Alkris nodded and returned to drinking. The liquid - whatever it was - had a faintly sweet smell, like sugared treats.

* * *

It soon became a custom to spar in the evening, which kept them lean and fit. Tellesa would often join too, testing them both against her unorthodox method of combat.

Then, one day, Alkris stood and brushed off his own sword. Eragon studied it and marveled at the workmanship. It was single edged, and curved at the tip. The grip had a large guard for the fingers and a wrapping of leather around the handle so that it wouldn't slip from the bearer's grasp. It appeared sturdy and practical, not quite as versatile or elegant as Zar'roc.

"Fight?" Alkris asked. Eragon accepted his challenge and guarded the edges of the blades, while the Eliksni watched on in amazement.

However, Eragon soon learned that it might have been more merciful to leave it unwarded. Each strike from Alkris was like a hammer blow; inhumanely powerful and unrelenting. Eragon was forced to move fast, lest the Eliksni shatter his bones, but Alkris was quicker still. He even tossed the blade to his other hands to mix it up, which Eragon was hard pressed to defend against.

It became very clear that Alkris could not be beaten. Not by any human, by Eragon's reckoning. He wondered whether Brom's bold claim about the skill of elven swordcraft could be applied to Eliksni. It certainly seemed like it. So, when Alkris knocked Eragon down, he knew that there was no other option than to admit defeat. The Eliksni helped him up and would test him and the others on occasion, though none of them could ever hope to beat him.

With his return to health, Eragon also resumed practicing magic. Murtagh was curious about it and soon revealed that he knew a surprising amount about how it worked, though he lacked the precise details and could not use it himself. Whenever Eragon practiced speaking in the ancient language, Murtagh would listen in quietly, sometimes asking what a word meant.

On the outskirts of Gil'ead they stopped, horses side by side. It had taken them nearly a month to reach it, during which time spring had finally nudged away the remnants of winter. Eragon had felt himself changing during the trip, growing stronger and calmer. He still thought about Brom and spoke about him with Sapira and Tellesa, but for the most part he tried not to awaken painful memories.

From a distance they could see the city was a rough, barbaric place, filled with log houses and yapping dogs. There was a rambling stone fortress at its centre. The air was hazy with wood smoke. The place seemed more like a temporary trading post than a permanent city. Five miles beyond it was the hazy outline of Isenstar Lake.

They decided to camp two miles from the city, for safety. While their dinner simmered, Murtagh said, "I'm not sure you should be the one to go into Gil'ead."

"Why? I can disguise myself well enough," Eragon argued. "And Dormnad will want to see the gedwëy ignasia as proof that I really am a Rider."

"Perhaps," Murtagh replied. "But the empire wants you much more than me."

"And they don't want me at all," Tellesa rolled her eyes. "I'll go."

"Hold on. Did the Ra'zac see your face?"

"They..." The colour drained from Tellesa. "Damn. But that doesn't mean..."

"They know you're traveling with Eragon now. They'll send word out. And, like it or not, a woman traveling by herself is sure to cause some suspicion," Murtagh pointed out. "If I'm captured, I could eventually escape. But if either of you are taken, they'll drag you to the king, where you'll be in for a slow death by torture - unless you join him." He looked at Eragon. "Plus, Gil'ead is one of the army's major staging points. Those aren't houses out there; they're barracks. Going in there would be like handing yourself to the king on a gilded platter."

Eragon asked Saphira for her opinion. She lowered her head to sniff at the air. " _You shouldn't have to ask me; he speaks sense. There are certain words I can give him that will convince Dormnad of his truthfulness. And Murtagh's right; if anyone is to risk capture it should be him, because he would live through it._ "

Eragon grimaced. " _I don't like letting others put themselves in danger for us._ " He sighed reluctantly. "Alright, you can go. But if anything goes wrong, we're coming after you."

Murtagh laughed. "That would be fit for a legend: how a lone Rider took on the king's army single-handedly. Is there anything I should know before going?"

"Shouldn't we rest and wait until tomorrow?" Eragon asked cautiously.

"Why? The longer we stay here, the greater the chance that we'll be discovered. If this Dormnad can take you to the Varden, then he needs to be found as quickly as possible. Neither of us should remain near Gil'ead longer than a few days."

" _Again wisdom flies from his mouth_ _,_ " Saphira commented. She told Eragon what should be said to Dormnad, and he relayed the information to Murtagh. Then they informed Paltis, who looked at Murtagh for a few seconds and then nodded. The Eliksni were quick learners, and now had a very rudimentary understanding of the human language. Alkris was still away hunting, but was expected back shortly.

"Very well," Murtagh said, adjusting his sword. "Unless there's trouble, I'll be back within a couple of hours. Make sure there's some food left for me." With a wave of his hand, he jumped onto Tornac and rode away. Eragon sat by the fire, tapping Zar'roc's pommel apprehensively.

Hours passed, but Murtagh did not return. The Eliksni chittered worriedly among themselves. Saphira watched Gil'ead attentively, while Eragon and Tellesa cleaned up after the meal.

" _Look!_ " Saphira rose up.

Eragon swiveled toward Gil'ead, alert. He saw a distant horseman exit the city and ride furiously toward their camp. " _I don't like this,_ " he told her. " _Be ready to fly._ "

" _I'm prepared for more than that._ "

"Is it him?" Tellesa whispered.

As the rider approached, Eragon recognized Murtagh bent low over Tornac. No one seemed to be pursuing him, but he did not slow his reckless pace. He galloped into the camp and jumped to the ground, drawing his sword.

"What's wrong?" Tellesa asked him. The Eliksni snarled and looked ready for war.

Murtagh scowled. "Did anyone follow me from Gil'ead?"

"We didn't see anyone," Eragon told him.

"Good. Then let me eat before I explain. I'm starving." He seized a bowl and began eating with gusto. After a few sloppy bites, he spoke through a full mouth, saying "Dormnad has agreed to meet us outside Gil'ead at sunrise tomorrow. If he's satisfied you really are a Rider and that it's not a trap, he'll take you to the Varden."

"Where are we supposed to meet him?" Eragon asked.

Murtagh pointed west. "On a small hill across the road."

"So what happened?"

Murtagh spooned more food into his bowl. "It's a rather simple thing, but all the more deadly because of it: I was seen in the street by someone who knows me. I did the only thing I could and ran away. It was too late, though; he recognized me."

It was unfortunate, but Eragon was unsure how bad it really was. "Since I don't know him, I have to ask: Will he tell anyone?"

Murtagh gave a strained laugh. "If you _had_ met him, that wouldn't need answering. His mouth is loosely hinged and hangs open all the time, vomiting whatever happens to be in his mind. The question isn't _whether_ he will tell people, but _whom_ he will tell. If word of this reaches the wrong ears, we'll be in trouble."

"I doubt that soldiers will be sent to search for you in the dark," Eragon pointed out. "We can at least count on being safe until morning, and by then, if all goes well, we'll be leaving with Dormnad."

Murtagh shook his head. "No. As I said before, I won't go to the Varden."

Eragon stared at him unhappily. He wanted Murtagh to stay. They had become friends during their travels, and he was loath to tear that apart. He glanced at Tellesa, but she only offered a helpless shrug. Eragon started to protest, but Saphira hushed him and said gently, " _Wait until tomorrow. Now is not the time._ "

"Very well," he replied glumly. They talked until the stars were bright in the sky, then slept as Saphira and Alkris took the first watch.

* * *

Eragon woke many hours before dawn, his palm tingling. Everything was still and quiet, but something sought his attention, like an itch in his mind. He buckled on Zar'roc and stood, careful not to make a sound. Saphira looked at him, her large eyes bright. Beside her, Alkris had removed his helm, his forked tongue shooting out briefly to taste the air. He appeared troubled.

" _What is it?_ " Saphira asked.

" _I don't know,_ " Eragon answered. He saw nothing amiss.

Alkris inhaled through is nostrils. He hissed quietly and stood straighter. "Ride-beasts," he said quietly. "Not us. Bad."

" _Trouble,_ " Saphira surmised. She stood up as silently as she could.

Eragon crept to Tellesa and shook her shoulder. She awoke with a start, hand reaching for her sword, but calmed upon seeing it was him. "What is it?" She asked.

"Horses nearby," Eragon whispered. He moved onto Murtagh. The other boy, once awake, drew his weapon. Paltis was already up by then, roused by the low sounds of the other Elksni. All of them held weapons and looked about. A nearby squirrel chittered, startling Eragon.

Then an angry snarl from behind made him spin around, sword held high. A broad-shouldered Urgal had crept to the edge of their camp, carrying a mattock with a nasty spike. _Where did it come from? We haven't seen their tracks anywhere!_ Eragon thought. The Urgal roared and waved his weapon, but did not charge. Alkris growled right back.

" _Brisingr!_ " Eragon barked, stabbing out with magic. The Urgals' face contorted with terror as he exploded in a flash of blue light. Blood splattered across the grass, and a heap of burnt flesh littered the ground.

Behind him, Saphira cried out with alarm and reared. Eragon twisted around. While he had been occupied with the first Urgal, a group of them had run up from the side. _Of all the stupid tricks to fall for!_

Steel clashed loudly as the Eliksni threw themselves at their new foes, brutally tearing into whichever Urgal was reckless enough to come close. Eragon tried to join them, but found himself suddenly blocked by four of the monsters. The first swung a sword at his shoulder. He ducked beneath the blow and killed the attacker with magic. He caught a second in the throat with Zar'roc, wheeled wildly, and pierced a third through the heart. As he did, the fourth rushed at him, swinging a heavy club.

Eragon saw it coming and tried to lift his sword, but it caught on the dead Urgal's ribs and was a second too slow. As the club came down on his head, he screamed, "Fly, Saphira!"

A burst of light filled his eyes and he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Next trio of chapters is going to focus on Ikharos and the trouble brewing there. After that, I'm going to stop making three-part sections and turn to more individual chapters to allow me that bit more flexibility in writing, starting with one on the Cabal side of things.
> 
> Also, huge thanks to Nomad Blue for the edits and suggestions. I'd be screaming with horror at the glaring mistakes I've made without him.


	22. Harmonic Hues I

The burning in his lungs was a welcome sensation. Ikharos panted and leaned heavily on the simple steel sword, the blade notched and chipped away to the core, and grinned as he shook his burnt hand. The Arc crackled unpleasantly between his fingers, sending waves of pain lancing up his arm. It had been a good strike. The entire duel reminded him of Crucible, and no respectable Guardian would ever say no to that.

His opponent, likewise exhausted, braced herself against a mossy stone wall. She reached over her sabre's oak-coloured blade and pulled away the shimmering ward. Ikharos didn't know why she bothered with it in the first place.

"I have nothing else to teach," he said.

The elf looked at him sharply. "Are you sure?"

"Unless you die and come back as a Guardian, I am. I'm not a Psion; I haven't mastered their abilities. I've passed on all I know on their powers - which is, admittedly, not much." He forced himself to stand, tossing away the useless sword. "And there's not much else I can pass on."

She was displeased - he could tell. She masked her feelings well, but he had solved that puzzle some time ago. Her hand would move ever so slightly closer to her side, where a sword would be sheathed, when she grew angry. It indicated that she was accustomed to casual acts of violence. The trouble was deciding if those acts were perpetrated by her or another. Ikharos didn't want to bring her anywhere near innocent people; he couldn't tell if she was a casual killer or merely a hardened veteran.

"There _may_ be one practice," he relented. He didn't know why. Ikharos had already held up his end of the bargain. Maybe he just didn't want to finish up… whatever this was. He liked teaching. He liked having his mind occupied with something else, rather than the matter of dragons.

Formora's eyes gleamed with a ravenous need for knowledge. "What is it?"

Ikharos sighed. He was playing with fire. She was dangerous, more than any other human he had encountered on this world. "Understanding the nullscape. It has no offensive potential, but it is the greatest mental defense developed. Anyone can do it - paracausality is not required. Walking the nullscape is to achieve a mindset completely clear and focused that no offensive can break it."

"That is how you withstood the combined effort of Enduriel and I." He had to give credit where it was due; she was sharp.

"It is," he inclined his head. He grimaced as his burned hand brushed against his leg. He coldly pushed the pain aside. It wasn't important, only a weakness of the body. " _Waíse heill,_ " he muttered. The flesh mended itself. His gauntlet, however, was not as fortunate. He mentally berated himself. They didn't have near enough Glimmer to make constant repairs. "Interested?"

Formora rose and put away her sword. "I am." Then she paused. "Later."

"Fair." Ikharos ripped the ruined gauntlet off. The metal weave was thoroughly burnt - melted and scorched throughout. "But this isn't."

"You chose to spar without wards," Formora accused. She walked out of the courtyard and headed back to her hideaway, leaving Ikharos with the curious owls that always accompanied their sessions. The birds looked down at him from an ancient tree, perched on a branch as thick as his arm.

He smiled wryly and met the stares of the wraith-like creatures. "Enjoy that?"

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness," Xiān sang, as she appeared beside him. She inspected the damage and tutted. There wasn't much they could do to repair the resilient metal cloth.

Ikharos grunted. "It's a good thing I'm not talking to myself."

"Yeah, because talking to birds is so much better."

"People talk to pets all the time."

"The owls are pets?"

"I like them." Ikharos stood and held out his arm. " _Eka weohnata néiat haina onr,_ " he said. Commiting the ancient language to memory was a relatively simple matter when Formora was well-learned in the matter. She had been reluctant to share her knowledge at first, until he pointed out that she was getting more than enough in return.

One of the birds flitted away from the branches. It chittered like a squirrel and landed on his arm. It was large, for an owl, but didn't weigh much. It prodded him for food; Ikharos could never deny those adorable mottled faces. He rolled his eyes, reached into his bag, and tore off a piece of fried fish. The owl eagerly dug in. He loved how it avoided catching his fingers with its beak, careful not to bite the hand that fed it. They were animals of startling intelligence.

"You should keep one," Xiān said. "They keep you from being too..."

"Too...?"

"Intense."

"Harsh." His eyes were trained on the owl. "What about this one?"

"Morri? Nah, he's an asshole."

"Why is he an asshole?"

"He looked at me funny."

"They look at everything funny."

"Go for Sigrun over there. She's nice."

Ikharos looked in the direction of the other owls. "There's three of them. Which one is Sigrun?"

"The nice one."

"Ah." Ikharos said. "I get it."

"Do you?"

"Not really." He removed his helmet and set it beside him. Morri flew off to rejoin his friends.

Ikharos' Ghost hovered in front of him. She didn't say anything for a brief moment. It was bliss. Then, "You should do that more often."

"Do what? Feed the owls?" He asked, frowning. "I do that everyday."

"No, the armour. Take it off, use normal clothes."

"I'd be unprepared."

"Not every day is a battle." Xiān said. He sent her a pointed look. "Well, it isn't here. We haven't had any substantial trouble in a while."

"The Darkness almost killed us."

"I said a while, didn't I? Look, what I'm saying is if you stay in your armour any longer, you'll turn into a fungus."

"That's... nevermind." He brought out his lunch: fish and strawberries. He didn't have much in terms of options. At least he knew the strawberries were safe; Formora had promised him in the ancient language that the fruit was warded from radiation.

Xiān contemplated the sparse meal laid out between them. "It was awfully nice of her."

"It's only a handful of seeds."

"Radiation-free strawberry seeds are a rare commodity here."

"I think that for something to be a rare commodity, there needs to be a little more than two people."

The Ghost ignored him. "Why do you think she did it?"

"Perhaps it was something along the lines of an apology?"

"As apologies for murder go, this isn't great."

Ikharos shook his head. "Sure, terrible apology, got it."

"We deserve two handfuls of radiation-free strawberry seeds!"

The Warlock spared her a confused look. "Are you alright?"

"Bored."

"Go tease the giant snails."

Xiān chuckled. "It's fun, but it gets old really quickly. Or slowly, in their case."

"Oh?"

"Only so many times you can lead them on low-speed chases across the island."

"Ah."

"Or poke their eyes."

"That's a bit cruel."

"Is it? Nah, snails don't have souls."

"And that's overly harsh."

"Maybe we should do as the French did and cook up some escargot."

"No thank you. Some of us have standards."

"See? Isn't this fun?" She landed on his knee. "Just like old times, traveling the world and enjoying great banter along the way."

"You and I remember 'old times' very differently." Ikharos dropped the gauntlet; it was a lost cause. "There was a lot more screaming from what I recall."

Xiān didn't pay him any mind. She twirled her shell around. "What's next?"

"Hm?"

"Now that you know how to cast magic on a basic level, what comes next?"

Ikharos shrugged. "I don't know."

"What about..." She trailed off.

"What?"

"The _Exodus Prime._ We could-"

"We're not talking about this." Ikharos stood and walked away. Xiān flew after him, eye flickering with sudden anger

"Yes, we are! This is just so... so stupid!" She huffed. "There's no harm in asking a few questions. Stop acting like... like this!"

"I'm not going to humour an Ahamkara." Ikharos said coolly.

"There aren't any Ahamkara!" Xiān replied furiously. "We have an opportunity here! Golden Age tech, someone who can tell us how to defeat the Hive, the answers for everything on this planet! We need to use that!"

"We're not arguing about this again." The Warlock stated. "I won't change my decision."

"Then I'll do it!" Xiān snapped. She turned around and floated away.

A fear unlike any other filled Ikharos' heart. His blood went ice-cold. "You're not going to..." He began

"Watch me." She called back.

"Wait, you can't just... It's too dangerous!"

"Nowhere near as dangerous as the Dreadnought was. Or the Dreaming City." She bit back. "This is our duty, right? I'm going to uphold my obligation and find out all I can. To give us a better chance of surviving this war." Xiān flew off beyond the courtyard, disappearing from view.

"Psekisk!" Ikharos cursed and ran as fast as he could. Her Light signature was easy to track. Catching up was another story - Ghosts were unexpectedly speedy.

* * *

He found her sat on a weathered rock staring at the horizon. The sun was out of view, and the sky was painted in a mix of oranges and purples. The gentle wash of the low tide lulled them into a calm.

Ikharos knelt beside her. Neither said a word, content to enjoy the beautiful scene while it lasted. When they were thrust into the gloom of dusk, the Warlock cleared his throat. "I don't like this. You're forcing my hand."

She barely glanced at him. The Ghost shivered; her fins twitched. "Go on then, try to guilt trip me. You know I'm right. We can both save a lot of time and trouble if we throw aside all pretensions of civility and get to the heart of it; the _Exodus Prime_."

"You-"

"I know why you're afraid. Ikharos, I know everything about you. I'm in your head. Even if I weren't, three centuries is a long time, and I've been at your side for all of it, ups and downs. You're afraid because of what happened. You're afraid it will happen again."

"I don't want to lose any more than I already have." He admitted reluctantly.

"I know. But, and I'm sorry, tough crap. This isn't a small battle; this is a war for everything. We might not play a big part again, but every little effort is necessary. It's an uphill battle, and if we lose, it's all over. No second chances for anyone."

"Ahamkara are different. Every time we fight them, it's a gamble. They aren't like Hive or Vex. They're not entirely beings of the material plane."

"On the off chance they're alive, we still have to fight them. I trust you to do what's right, always, but sometimes you need a push. So... consider yourself pushed."

"Thanks," Ikharos drawled.

"That's what I'm here for."

* * *

The dolphins were only too happy to see him again.

" _killer - friend - current - warm - air - poison - keep away - friend - safe? - alive - swim strong - swim slow - happy! - help!_ "

They swam with him all the way back to his laboratory. There, Ikharos readied himself for a fight. He and Xiān counted out their weapons and ammunition, then concluded there was enough for a brief skirmish. After that, Ikharo would be down to his knife.

"Your armour's not doing too well either." His Ghost remarked. "I don't think it'll hold up much longer."

"What do you propose?" Ikharos asked. "The claws?"

"The fancy robes too."

The Warlock hummed. "That _would_ be easier on how fast we expend Light, and boost the Void. Perfect for paracausal foes, less ideal than Braytech against conventional weaponry. I'll stick with what I have for now."

The swim to the wreck of the _Exodus Prime_ was uneventful. More dolphins swam by to look at him, but not one so much as touched him. He doubted he could withstand a smack of their tails, unarmoured as he was, so he appreciated the space.

The hanger bay was just as he left it, littered with scrap metal and the husks of irreparable jumpships. Ikharos ignored them and donned his haggard Braytech suit, the metal scratched and dented, a gauntlet missing. He drew his Lumina and delved deeper into the long-dead vessel.

This time, he took the time to analyze the reddish-brown paintings of dolphins and sharks on the wall. Xiān scanned it. "It's blood," she reported. "Human, probably."

"Yeah," Ikharos said. "Probably."

There were no other remains. No bones, no ripped clothes, no fallen accessories. It was as if the people had disappeared. Spontaneously eaten by Ahamkara, he supposed. But what would drive them to sketch symbols of the war between Light and Dark? Or was he misreading it?

Ikharos, hours later, stepped into the SMILE pod room with his cannon primed. The fusion-turret tracked him and whined to life. Almost a second too late, he dropped the barrel. The whine came to a halt.

The pod hissed and opened up once more, cryogel mists flooding out to cover the floor. The Frames appeared to help Taox out of the chamber. The ancient proto-Hive rasped and shook her rickety wings. Another robot walked past Ikharos with a crate full of minced fish. He waited as Taox gorged herself on the tribute gathered by dolphins and then stated, "We need to talk."

She waved at him. _Go on, so. Talk._

"Why are you here?"

The Frame next to her trembled and turned to him..

"Directive 1: Protect humanity.  
Directive 2: Eliminate extrasolar lifeforms identified as Airan - translation: Hive  
Activate: CANARY CAGE  
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TEMPORAL ANOMALY  
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN TYPE(I)-INFECTION  
IMPERATIVE: CONTAIN ENTITY CONTAINING TYPE(I)-INFECTION."

"Wait, slow down, what's type i?" Ikharos asked.

"Experiment: [1] object contains [O] energy. [1] object contains type(i)-infection. Objects are placed in close proximity. Objects cause WILdFIRE ALERT.  
Hypothesis: [O] energy causes damage in objects bearing type(i)-infection. Type(i)-infections cause damage in objects bearing (O) energy.  
IMPERITIVE: DESTROY ENTITY CONTAINING TYPE(I)-INFECTION  
Hypothesis: (O) energy IMPERATIVE."

Ikharos took a step back. "I don't understand."

"Date: ?  
Subject: Foreign object approaching.  
Directive 1: Destroy foreign object.  
Summary: Object destroyed.  
Directive 2: Analyze entity emerging from destroyed foreign object.  
ANALYzE: [1] lifeform(s) contains [O] energy. Location: Sector 2. Query: [O] status. Query: [O] activity.  
Analysis complete.  
Lifeform sustained by [O] energy."

"... You mean me." Ikharos muttered. "O energy must be... Light. I am sustained by Light. Then... Oh, you idiots. Morons!" His voice swiftly built in volume. "You practically gave them a smoke signal to follow! Let me guess, the Hive found you before you could finish... well, whatever you were doing!"

"Negative." The Frame was a simple caretaker model, but Ikharos could still feel the suffocating presence of the Warmind behind it. Scipio was as intense and ruthless as his brother.

"You said there was an entity with a type i infection. I can only assume type i is Darkness. Nothing else would have such a volatile reaction to Light."

"Affirmative."

"But it wasn't Hive?"

"ANALYzE: [1] lifeform(s) contains type(i)-infection.  
Analysis complete.  
Lifeform sustained by type(i)-infection."

"That doesn't tell me anything."

"ANALYzE: [7] lifeform(s) contains type(i)-infection.  
Analysis complete.  
Lifeforms sustained by type(i)-infection."

"It's reproducing. That sounds like a Broodmother."

"Negative. Additional lifeform(s) infected through unknown means.  
Analysis complete.  
Lifeform vector for type(i)-infection."

"Not reproducing. Spreading. Infecting. That can't be right, I've never heard of anything like..." Ikharos' eyes widened. "There's a Darkness here. It wasn't trying to kill us; it was trying to probe our defenses. But why?"

"Unknown."

"Thought so. Warminds are smarter than we are, save for matters of paracausality..." The Warlock grumbled. "This has all the hallmarks of a Hive deity. All except that this world is still alive. Only other example of that was when Crota... When Crota went into hibernation, leaving Earth to survive another hundred years. He was weakened and... vulnerable to us, but only if we understood the workings of Hive, of their Sword Logic." He holstered his weapon. "Whatever you have is waiting, building up lost power. You attacked it upon arrival?"

"Affirmative."

"You could have told us that," Xiān complained. The Frame didn't respond.

Ikharos looked at Taox. "Do you want me to kill this thing?" A thought struck him. His words took on a solemn tone. "Is this why you've allowed me to live so far?"

The proto-Hive, on death's door, growled out one word in the language of her twisted people. "Yesssss."

The Warlock sighed. "I hate this planet. So be it, tell me where to go."

**000**

When Formora met Ikharos the next morning, an hour before midday, she was surprised to see him pacing nervously in the courtyard they used for duels and practicing magic. The yard had once been the gardens of a gentle Rider named Yesma, but had long since fallen into disuse. Formora was no longer bothered by the memories dredged up by Dorú Areaba. Having something to do gave her a suitable distraction and encouraged her to think on matters of the future rather than the past.

The... though he looked it, she could never think of him as human. Formora chose to use the term he named himself. The Risen looked up and caught sight of her, relief colouring his gaunt features. "Finally," he muttered under his breath.

"What is it?" She asked, frowning.

"I need to ask a favour," Ikharos began. "I need to get somewhere really quickly, but there's a large stretch of water in the way. When you arrived here, did you sail on a ship?"

"... I did," Formora admitted at length.

"Is it still here?"

"Why?" She inquired. She didn't like where this was going.

Ikharos nodded to himself. "I need it. This is really, really important. Please."

Formora crossed her arms. "Will I get it back?"

"If I'm alive to do so, sure."

"I can't settle for that."

"Look, I'll teach you about the nullscape, but this is the first priority. I'm talking about something impacting your entire world."

Formora's eyes widened. " _My_ world?"

The man froze. Then he swore, "Shit."

"What do you mean, _my_ world?" She pressed. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her saber. The feel of the smooth-cut garnet embedded in the pommel reassured her in a way nothing else ever could. Even if it wouldn't work, the feeling of having a weapon by her side was comforting.

Ikharos stood straight and exhaled. "There's no time. I promise, I'll tell you everything when I return. I'll swear it in the Ancient Language."

"What is it that's so urgent?"

"I'm not sure. A malevolent entity, to be sure, and one I need to kill."

"That's all you'll tell me?"

"It's all I know. Who knows, it might be a deity. All that I know is that it's Dark and millennia old. And it won't bode well for anyone if it wakes up."

Formora closed her eyes and tried not to let loose the harsh words swirling around her mind. She hated how he danced around issues, how he made up his own rules and how others had to follow them, how he could get what he wanted and no one could stop him. "I have little choice, do I?"

He remained quiet. He was capable of being polite, that much was true.

"So be it," she relented. Formora opened her eyes and sent him what she hoped was a pointed look. "But I don't trust you to return my ship."

"Look, I'll swear that if I-"

"Live, yes, I know, but I'm not going to take the risk of being stranded here. We'll both go. I'll remain in my ship while you hunt whatever it is you seek, and then..."

"We'll decide what happens after when we get there," he promised. "Thank you," Ikharos added softly. "I mean it. I'm glad I didn't kill you."

Formora bristled. "Yes, I am too," she said in a dangerously even tone. She saw him wince out of the corner of her eye, but paid it little notice. She might have tolerated his presence for a month, and in that time worked closely with him, but she didn't trust him. Their bloody introductions had ensured that. "I've hidden it in a cove to the northeast. Follow me. I need to grab my belongings."

* * *

The ship was nameless and of basic design. It was small enough that, with some effort, one person could sail it. It was designed with a small crew in mind, however. Formora pulled the old cloth canvas off of it and, together, they dragged it over the pale beach to the water's edge. They wordlessly pushed it in, waded into the surf and climbed aboard. Formora found the oars and tossed one to Ikharos. "We'll have to row out," she explained. "Then we can lower the sails."

"I know, I've sailed before." Ikharos paddled water behind them.

"Is that how you reached Vroengard?"

Ikharos nodded.

"What happened to your ship? Nïdhwal?"

"Yeah."

They didn't talk much more after that. For a few hours they rowed, testing their combined strength against the tides. When they were free and floating listlessly out onto the almost calm waters of the open ocean, Formora tugged the sails free. They fell outwards and billowed as they caught the wind.

"We're headed north," Ikharos told her. Formora raised an eyebrow.

"Not Alagaësia?" She asked curiously.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Northwest, maybe?" He held up a strange metal contraption with a blinking red light. She wanted to ask, but held off. Formora didn't want to test his patience. She didn't think Ikharos would keep up the polite persona for much longer, especially if aggravated. "This'll tell us. Just head in that general direction for now."

Formora steadied the sails, and once they were secured, sat down against the side of the ship. She glanced back. "This task of yours... Have you known all along? What brought this along so suddenly?"

Ikharos shrugged and warned, "Safer if you don't know."

"You promised to tell me everything."

"And I'll say this; there's forces at work that see creatures like us as little more than ants. Are you sure you want to know?"

Formora didn't even wait a second before answering, "Yes."

To her surprise, Ikharos chuckled. "It's your life. You know, you're like a Hunter I knew... a long time ago..." He trailed off, then inhaled sharply. "Alright. It started with a pod of dolphins and the aftermath of a Nïdhwal attack. The sea monster had destroyed my ship and I killed it for its efforts."

"I saw the body. The wound was grievous," Formora remarked.

"Void will do that to you. Quick to kill and slow to heal. Void scars are nearly as common as those caused by Hive. Anyways, the dolphins were kind enough to..."

* * *

Formora listened closely as Ikharos briefly recounted all that had happened before he left the city of Vroengard after their first true conversation, and went on to speak of the search for the dolphins. She felt there were pieces missing in his tales; parts not adding up or details ghosted over. Largely, though, she felt he was speaking the truth, only a modified version of it. It irked her, but she didn't dare complain. He might bring up the topic of her own half-truths or stop speaking altogether. Some information was better than none at all.

"I found the ruins of the _Exodus Prime_ , a colony ship, embedded on the seafloor."

"How did you dive?" Fomora asked. "It must have been leagues beneath the surface."

"Scuba gear. Equipment designed for elongated dives. I've been on lengthy missions in oceans before. I enjoy it."

"You don't have it with you..." Formora narrowed her eyes. "Is it with the engram? How is it you carry objects without physically holding them?"

"Subspace vault," Ikharos replied. "And I deposit and withdraw items using transmat. Transmat means, in short, that the matter of an object is turned into pure information and uploaded digitally to the vault. No, that wasn't very clear. How about this? The object is turned into information, and that information is transported to a place that doesn't really exist."

"That makes little sense," Formora pointed out.

"It's confusing, I agree, but that's the beauty of Golden Age technology. People of that time were making things that no one even fantasized about before."

She sighed. "Back to the dive. You found the remains of a ship?"

"I did. The dolphins were monitoring it, keeping some of its systems operational by controlling repair drones through sensoriums. Sensoriums are miniscule devices surgically implanted into the brain, allowing the mind to interact with complex machinery. Dolphins aren't immortal, but they pass on the tradition by giving sensoriums to those chosen to become new caretakers. It helps that they have a Warmind to oversee the operations."

"Warmind?"

"Vast intelligences created by humanity in the Golden Age. Designed to protect our species from threats both at home and from outside. They can organize flawless strategies for thousands of different battles in a second, no matter the foe. They control weapons powerful enough to eradicate cities, to exterminate civilizations. Only a few were ever created, the first being Rasputin. Most others are Subminds, beholden to the will of Rasputin, but the resident Warmind of here has grown apart from his brother and become completely independent. His name is Scipio." Ikharos paused. "By all rights, he should have his own Subminds. I wonder where they've gone..."

"If he's so powerful, why hasn't he assumed control of all the people of Alagaësia?"

"He has."

Formora blinked. "No he hasn't."

Ikharos smiled sadly. "Yes, he has. You just don't notice it. When night falls, you'll see it if you look up."

"I'd see only the moon and stars."

"And satellites. Constructs and weapons of Scipio, floating just beyond gravity's pull, watching everything that happens down here. They are his eyes and his fangs. They looked just like stars, but if you know what to look for, you can find them."

"How do you know?" Formora challenged. "Nothing can reach that high."

"I did. That's how I arrived on your world. And yes, I mean that this world is not my own."

Formora shook her head. "Impossible."

"You'll see," Ikharos quietly promised. He was silent for a few moments before resuming his tale. "I found the Warmind inhabiting the _Exodus Prime_ _._ And another being, Taox. She's a refugee from her own people, and perhaps our greatest chance of withstanding the onslaught of Hive."

"I've heard you mention them before. What are Hive?"

"Monsters. They see love and hate as the very same thing. Their entire purpose is to kill _everything_ _._ They believe that if they kill all there is, what's left must be immortal, must be strong and the rightful inheritor of existence in its entirety. Lesser Hive worship the greatest of their kind as deities, because they have become immortal."

"Immortal? Like you?"

"My immortality is a gift of Light. Theirs is a prize taken and conquered through practices of the Dark. We couldn't be any more different. My people, Risen, are the antithesis of Ascendant Hive. We are designed to kill each other. Hive will never pass up on the chance to kill a Risen, and we will never pass up on the chance to kill them right back."

Formora had a difficult time imagining all that. Immortality through senseless killing? Galbatorix was powerful, but though he had killed many, she knew he was just as mortal as any other. "How do you kill each other, if Risen and Hive are immortal?"

"Ascendant."

"Sorry?"

"Ascendant Hive. Normal Hive are _mortal_. Ascendant Hive are the _immortals_ , the ones who manage to become gods both minor and mighty. And yes, we have our ways to ensure our enemies stay dead. I've killed more than my fair share of Ascendants. The best way to kill an immortal entity is to destroy its soul, its very being, everything that makes it a conscious person. To do that, I had to travel into the afterlifes created by the strongest of the Hive and kill the Ascendants there, where they are most vulnerable. And most powerful."

"That can't be true," Formora scoffed.

"It takes some getting used to. Let's hope that whatever I'm going to kill isn't like that."

"Do you believe it's a god?" She asked, disbelieving.

"I do. Something powerful enough to warrant such desperate measures from a Warmind must be an Ascendant. Or of equal might. I don't know in truth, but that's my theory. We'll see when we get there."

Formora huffed and looked away. _Gods_ _._ He truly seemed to believe it. It put everything else he said into question. How much of it was fact and how much was drivel? "The Warmind instructed you to slay this creature?" She questioned after a lengthy pause.

"Yeah. It must have attacked a while back, so Scipio did all he could to keep it contained. I'm not sure what. He's not very forthcoming on the details, but that's Warminds for you."

Formora didn't speak up after that. She didn't know whether to believe him. It far outclassed even the nonsensical tales preached by the dwarves. On the other hand, she couldn't deny that the person with her was immortal. She killed him, and here he was, acting as if it didn't even faze him. Was that a god? With his power and his deathlessness, nothing in all of Alagaësia could ever hope to challenge him. Even Galbatorix, at the height of his power, would stand little chance against the unstoppable might of the Risen.

* * *

The hushed tranquility that became the rest of the afternoon was oddly comforting. Ikharos was no stranger to sailing, but Formora gave him instructions regardless. They worked in tandem and made great progress. They laboured away and ensured that every little task was completed. Few words were exchanged in this time, only ever brief conversations to last a few minutes. As the days flowed by and their food supplies began to diminish, Ikharos excitedly exclaimed that they were close. His metal tool was making noise now, a constant beeping that irritated her more sensitive hearing.

The elation died away as the faint mists flowed across the water's still surface, bitingly cold against bare skin. The wind died away, making the weak sloshing of water against the ship's hull alarmingly clear.

"We're very close," Ikharos said. His voice was little more than a whisper, but it carried so very far in the unsettling quiet. He pointed ahead of them. "That way."

Formora lifted her oar. "There's no wind," she murmured. Her eyes darted around, checking for threats. Now would be the perfect time for a Nïdhwal to strike. She expanded her mind, reaching out with innumerous probes. The impenetrable fortress that was Ikharos didn't even notice. She feared finding something, anything, watching them... but now she realized how worse it was when there was nothing. The two of them were the only living things for miles around.

They rowed slowly, neither daring to make any more noise than was necessary. She didn't know how long they spent doing just that; it felt like forever. So when they suddenly ground to a halt, she jumped with fright and reached for her sword.

They'd hit the end of a sandspit. Formora peeked over the wooden rim of the ship, weapon drawn, and found it leading off into the cold mists. Pale sands sparkled with tiny ice crystals, allowing the place an ethereal feel.

"I've never been here..." Formora said. They'd only sailed for a handful of days; the Riders of the past had surely discovered this, yet she'd never heard mention.

Ikharos passed by and jumped down onto the spit. He looked about suspiciously, his ivory weapon aimed before him. "I won't be long," he grunted, and walked further. Soon, the fog swallowed him.

She waited for hours, readied for anything. She waited with her weapon in hand and magic only a few words away. She waited for a fight for her life. But nothing ever appeared. Not even Ikharos.

The faint pink light of evening never faded, even as it turned to night by her count. She bided her time, but even as it turned to an entire day, Ikharos didn't return.

Formora decided he was dead. Or still fighting. Or lost, maybe? Still, he hadn't returned. Though they'd never specified how long they would be here, she hadn't thought it would drag on like this. How long did it take to slay his Ascendant Hive in any case? Surely it would be a simple matter, if his boast was honest and he'd killed them before. Ikharos didn't seem the type to tell such tales, however. He had his secrets, yes, but he'd been truthful in almost every aspect. It was one of the reasons she trusted him not to change his mind and stab her in the back; he was honest. He hadn't held back on information during his teachings, even if it did empower someone he had been at odds with not so long ago - not that she expected the newest skills she picked up were going to increase her chances of ever defeating the Risen.

Even as morning approached, the light did not change. It filtered through the ice particles within the mist as a faint pink hue, bathing everything in an eerie light.

Formora gave into the growing frustration and groaned. "Why me?" She asked aloud, for no other purpose than to amuse herself. "Why do I have to do this? Oh Enduriel, you fool... If you were still alive, I swear, it would be me who killed you..."

At the very least, giving voice to it helped articulate her thoughts. She carried on. "What am I supposed to do? Wait? Leave? If I do and he lives, he'll kill me."

By midday she had taken pacing across the very small deck. When her patience wore to an end, she turned about and faced the direction Ikharos had gone shouting, "Damn it all!"

Formora strapped on the two spare swords she brought over her back, leapt over onto the sandspit, and ran into the mists.

She didn't get very far before she found Ikharos strolling ahead of her, looking about with his weapon held at eye level.

Formora glared at the back of his head, muttered dark things under her breath, and raced towards him. He glanced over his shoulder as she caught up, raising an eyebrow. "You coming too?"

She went still. Her hands shook by her sides. Very quietly, she asked, "What?"

Ikharos frowned. "Are you coming too? As in, are you joining me? I can promise it won't be... Are... are you alright?"

She couldn't help it; she punched him. Straight into the face. Almost immediately she withdrew and winced, cursing her short temper. Ikharos stared back utterly stunned, blood trickling from his very broken nose. He didn't look angry, only surprised and confused. The pain didn't appear to bother him very much

"Ow," he said dumbly. He reached up and, as casually as she had ever seen, realigned it despite the waves of agony she was positive he was feeling. A faint purple glow emanated from his hand, mending the injury effortlessly. "Can I ask what that was for?"

The lack of any true retaliation spurred her back to fury. "Do you take me for a fool?!" She hissed.

"Uh... no? I think you're very intelligent and... I don't understand..."

"Neither do I!" She spat. "This is a poor joke! I swear, if you make me needlessly wait once more, I will leave you here, and damn the consequences!"

"Wait? But I just... left..." Understanding dawned in Ikharos' eyes. "How long did you wait?"

The question caught her off guard, but Formora recovered quickly. "You know," she bit out. Why wasn't he owning up? It was glaringly obvious to both what he'd done.

"I don't," his eyes adopted a sternness that terrified her. "Tell me how long you waited."

An uneasy feeling coursed through her. He sounded serious and… dare she say it, afraid? She hesitantly answered with, "Almost an entire day."

"Psekisk!" He said, turning about with his spiked weapon raised. "Temporal anomaly, of course!"

"Temporal..." Now it was her turn to frown. "What do you mean, temporal anomaly?"

He didn't appear to hear her. He spoke out loud, but the words were directed to himself. "It can't be Vex, there's no sign of conversion, meaning that it's something else. Something that also has a hold on the resident Darkness. It can only mean an exponential growth in power... Unless... this entire planet is held in the anomaly, so it's being used for something. It's not strictly Sword Logic, otherwise everything would be long dead, so it feeds on another source... The theory is backed up by local history. Thousands of years of recorded generations? Impossible, unless temporal anomaly... Which confirms all that. We already knew that there was an anomaly, but now we know _why_ it's there... But _what_ does it feed on?"

"Excuse me?" She felt some of her old anger return. "Don't start spouting nonsense now! I will leave you behi-"

"I just left!" He snapped, surprising her. "I wasn't keeping you waiting!"

"But I-"

"Yeah, time works differently here. There's a different sort of magic at work. Time is... well, it's not exactly linear anymore. But... we might be lucky. It's not linear, but at least there's a path to follow. A winding road. This isn't a Vex installation where time stretches on in every direction. Whatever created this used to be a being borne of linear time, like us. The time trap isn't perfect."

"Time trap?"

"Yeah. What better way to safeguard yourself than to use time to cripple your would-be killers? This trap won't keep us away, but it will prevent anyone - save those with an understanding of acausal and paracausal designs - from coming close." Ikharos set his jaw in a determined fashion. "Which means that there's bound to be other defenses. Whatever this thing is, it's smart."

"That... that can't... only true masters of magic could ever attempt to dabble in the laws of time, and only ever to quicken themselves!"

"Welcome to my world. Impossible just means 'unlikely to occur, but no promises.' Not everyone plays by the same rules we do." His expression softened. "Go back to the boat. It will be much safer."

"At this rate, I'll have to wait years."

"That is the problem." He regarded her curiously. Formora hated that. He might not even mean it, but he was condescending. It made her feel she was with the Order once more, victim to criticism from the elder Riders. What gave them the right to pass judgement? They had accomplished _nothing_ _._ "What are you going to do?"

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" She growled. "If I leave, you'll just hunt me down like before."

It caught her off guard that Ikharos then assumed an insulted demeanour. "Do you truly think so little of me? Ouch." He winced.

"You wouldn't?" Formora asked, surprised and more than a little suspicious.

"I mean, it would be quite the swim, but I'd make it eventually. And I'd be pissed off, sure, but I wouldn't kill anyone for that. It's just an inconvenience after all."

Formora tried to read for any deception in his eyes or tone, but it was difficult. Surely this was a test. 'Quite the swim' was an understatement - it would mean certain death by drowning, Nïdhwal, or even overly-curious sharks. Immortal he might be, Formora couldn't see the act of constantly dying would be anything less than a nightmare. Ikharos had killed Enduriel because they attacked and killed the Risen; would this be any different?

"I don't believe you," she decided.

Ikharos nodded, his expression conveying understanding. "Trust is hard to come by, I know that all too well. So what are you going to do?"

"If I waited by the ship, I would eventually starve. Nothing grows here, nothing swims in the waters, nothing flies in the air. There is nothing."

"That leaves you coming with me. To kill a creature of Darkness," Ikharos gave a thin smile. "How... fortunate."

She shared the sentiment. "Will it be dangerous?"

"Would I be here otherwise?"

"What will I do?"

"Stay out of the way, don't draw attention, and be quiet." Ikharos ignored her revitalized glare. "I've got important things to think over, thank you very much."

He headed further on. She hurried to catch up, casting an uneasy glance all around them.

Before long, the fog began to thin, yet the bizarre pink light from above never changed in any way. When they emerged on the other side, she discovered that night had, in truth, fallen. Unusually bright stars and distant purple clouds coloured everything around them in a vague semidarkness.

The sandspit narrowed ahead of them. On either side, in the waters of this otherworldly shore, rested the fresh wrecks of ships. She saw the usual wooden vessels of humans, the ramshackle floats of Urgals, the sturdy but slow cogs of the dwarves, and the ancient silver ships of her own ancestors. The last were few, but they were a sight to behold. She had never seen them before - all but two had been lost to time. The material they were built from was unlike any other, a-

"What in the-" She turned to find Ikharos staring at something that just did not belong. It was metallic and forged into a triangular form, with a shattered glass window towards the front. The tip of the triangle and one fin stuck out of the water; the rest was submerged.

"What is it?" She pressed.

"A jumpship... _Echo_ -class, built for speed and agility over short to medium distances. It... it really shouldn't be here..." He breathed sharply. "This is a graveyard. For all who came before."

"Let's move on," Formora urged. She didn't like this at all. They all looked so new. Mostly undamaged. And devoid of their crews.

**000**

The graveyard seemingly carried on for miles. So many ships. And not a body in sight. He'd begun to think that this was yet another time trap, that they were going in a theoretical circle, when the wall reared up before them.

It was colossal. Even that word didn't give it credit. The wall was designed like a piece of gothic architecture, complete with flying buttresses and pointed arches. It spread outwards on either side too far to see. Right ahead of him, where the sandspit ended, a closed gateway loomed. It was built for giants. And over it, so high up, rested like a gargoyle on a ledge, was a Pike-sized greenish-grey lizard with the head of a buzzard.

It opened its eyes and looked upon them balefully. First it regarded Formora with passing interest and spoke up in a voice like knives against a chalkboard. It said, "I am Gatekeeper Qortho. Do you wish to prostrate yourself before the Master of Pain?"

"What is that?" Formora whispered fearfully.

"Ahamkara," Ikharos muttered. He grabbed her shoulder and opened his mind. "Nullscape, now!"

He forced understanding upon her, supporting her as the sudden influx of information made her dizzy. She regained her balance, shot him a scathing look, and assumed the mental stance with all the skill of a Kinderguardian. There was nothing for it. Ikharos grasped his own nullscape and tugged it over him like a veil to guard against the powers of the Wish-Dragon.

The monster's dark eyes narrowed. It focused on him. "I am Gatekeeper Qortho. You shall not pass."

"Afraid that's not an option." Ikharos aimed the Lumina and fired. The bullet tore through its eye socket. The Ahamkara screamed.

"Trespasser!" It shrieked and dove off the wall. Ikharos pushed Formora out of the way and Blinked aside. The lizard slammed down just where they were and thrust its head towards him. The Warlock fired again, a wild shot, and the bullet only grazed its head. The Ahamkara shook off the pain and charged him.

It crashed into him with all the force of a Cabal Interceptor, tossing him onto the ground. Ikharos landed badly, momentarily losing grip on the Lumina. He looked about and quickly found it, ignoring the ache in his chest, and scrambled after it. The Wish-Dragon reached him first, snapping its hooked beak around his leg, lifting him up and then slamming him down hard. Ikharos grunted and sent a Seeker bolt at the monster. The Void caught in its protective feathers, but it recoiled regardless.

Once more Ikharos went for his gun, and was subsequently stopped, this time as razor-sharp claws tore through his shield, armour, and the skin of his back. He cried out and fell to his knees. The Ahamkara pounced on him. He turned around to face it, throwing a punch coated with energy, but it expertly moved its head and caught his arm in its mouth. The force of the bite shattered the bones in his forearm, eliciting a scream from him. It crunched down eagerly, reveling in every wave of agony.

It inexplicably let go and screeched. When the beast moved, Ikharos just managed to catch a glimpse of Formora beside it, stabbing her already bloodied sabre into its side. It swiped at her with the back of a forepaw, forcing her back, and snatched up his injured arm in its jaws once more, then dragged him towards the water's edge. Ikharos tried to grab onto something with his free hand, but the sand and ice just flowed through his fingers. They reached the freezing seawater and the lizard pushed them in with a kick of its hind legs, angling itself for a dive beneath the surface.

Ikharos tried to summon his Light, the Void, anything, though nothing could make it past the building bubble of panic in his throat or the overpowering presence of the Ahamkara pressing down on him. The beast swam fast, going deeper and deeper, its long crocodilian tail powering their descent. Ikharos slammed his fist again and again into the side of its head, but the water slowed every blow so that each was practically harmless. Then he drew his knife and, in a fit of luck, stuck the blade in its remaining eye. It screamed, the impossibly loud sound ringing in his ears, and Ikharos tugged himself free. He kicked away and swam upwards, as fast as he could. He knew it was following right behind.

It hit him as he reached the surface, its jaws clamping shut around his midriff and reaching up with its forelimbs to sink its claws into whatever part of him it could find. They surged out of the water and onto the banks, bloodied water splashing onto the previously clean sands around them.

Ikharos stabbed it again and again, just as its claws sunk deeper and deeper. He heard - and felt - bones crack and snap within him, taut muscles tear apart as the beak sliced through armour and into him. The pounding of his heart weakened as he lost more and more blood. Then a familiar roar... and the pressure lessened. The Ahamkara shrieked weakly and stumbled away, crawling back in the direction of the city. The gates shuddered open.

"Trespassers!" It screeched. "TRESPASSERS!"

Ikharos struggled to his knees. Formora was there in an instant, helping him up. She held in her hand the Lumina, the barrel smoking.

"Thanks..." The Warlock gasped and tried not to buckle under the excruciating pain.

" _Waíse heill,_ " she said quickly. Ikharos breathed in relief as the agony faded away, as bones reset and his flesh mended itself.

" _It's escaping!_ " Xiān shouted from within his mind. His eyes darted back to the fleeing form of the wounded and blinded Ahamkara. It was already beyond the threshold of the entrance. He broke out into a run as the gates rumbled once more, this time closing. They slammed shut just before he could reach them. "No!" He bellowed and punched the stone, cracking it.

"Can we get in?" Formora called out.

"I don't... yeah, just give me time, I got to save up on..."

The radar on his helmet flashed red. Red, all around him.

"Oh psekisk," he gasped and twirled around. The waters rippled

Formora joined him in front of the gateway, wide-eyed with terror. "What is it?"

The ripples evolved into waves. "We've got incoming. And not enough Light to get through. Not yet."

"How long?" She asked. The waves turned to splashing. Whatever had killed the crews of all those ships was now coming for them.

"Too long," Ikharos reluctantly admitted. "Xiān, give us all you can."

He didn't care about exposing the presence of his Ghost. Not anymore. She appeared and dropped him as many weapons as he could carry, then disappeared. He hefted the weight of the Nemesis Star and dropped a shotgun and sidearm on the sand beside him. He glanced at Formora. She held a fierce, defiant look. Utterly lost, sure, but defiant.

"Here," he said, and passed over his Zen Meteor. "Don't miss. Our ammo is too limited for that."

"How do I..."

"It's like the Lumina - oh yeah, give it here - and you have to pull the trigger. Xiān will reload it for you. Don't ask questions. We really don't have time."

A metal arm shot out of the water's surface. The rest of the body followed; the rusted 99-40 series Frame stood on shaky legs, but its intent was clear. It shambled towards them, a high-pitched whirring sound emanating from its internal workings.

Ikharos shot it down. "Go for the chest or head. Nothing else will put them down for good. If you believe in any elven god, start praying."

"There isn't any elven god." She muttered, sparing him a look of exasperation.

Ikharos smiled grimly. "Dammit. I was hoping for a chance of divine intervention."

More Frames emerged. The Forsworn and Guardian ruthlessly put them down with precise shots. Just as those robots fell, new ones arrived to take their place, climbing onto the sand and hobbling towards the two intruders with malicious intent. Bullets flew at a rapid pace, and yet it did nothing to stem the tide. More and more rose up, too many Frames to count. Every reload allowed the growing horde to gain ground, climbing over the bodies of their fallen allies. Closer and closer they came, until...

"Light!" Ikharos called out. He tossed Formora the machine gun; she dropped the sniper rifle and caught it expertly, instantly opening fire. She'd caught onto how they worked quicker than he'd thought she would. "Cover me!"

He pushed the Light into his hands and channeled his anger, his passion. Flames flickered and grew, forming in his hands. He created a broadsword of Solar and shoved it into the stone of the immoveable gate. The material immediately melted and trickled down, sizzling on the sand. Ikharos sliced the sword downwards, slowly but surely, wielding it like a plasmacutter. He heard the metal bodies crashing on top of each other, the sound growing in volume as they neared the two.

"Faster!" Formora yelled.

"Trying!" Ikharos called back. The stone was a tougher material than he had anticipated. He just needed to-

"They're on us!" The elf warned. Ikharos twirled around and sliced the Daybreak Blade through the chassis of three Frames. Beside him, Formora had drawn twin blades. The Rider's swords made short work of the weathered drones.

They practically fell onto Ikharos as he slaughtered them by the dozen. Heaps of melted scrap metal began to pile up at his feet, growing into a mound that each new Frame had to climb over. And still there was no end in sight. "Too damn many!" He grunted.

Then his Daybreak ran out, and ended up punching his intended target. The Frame died, of course, but it left him with some very sore knuckles. Fomora wordlessly threw him the sword in her off hand. He grabbed it and planted it in the next robot. He snatched up the shotgun and laid into the horde, tearing them apart in clumps. He kicked the sidearm in his companion's direction, hoping she would notice. He was rewarded with a satisfying _pop-pop-pop_ , each marking the end of another enemy.

When the shotgun clicked empty and no more bullets were transmatted inside, Ikharos embedded it barrel-first into a Frame's neck and brought out his knife. He used the smaller blade to parry the clumsy strikes of the mechanical arms and the purple longsword to deliver fatal blows.

"Can't fight much longer!" Formora shouted to be heard over the incessant, collective shriek of the machines.

Ikharos glanced back. He had almost cut them a hole through. He could even see the other side where he had burned through. If he had any more Light, he might be able to teleport them through, but he was depleted.

" _Magic!_ " Xiān screamed from within. " _Use it! NOW!_ "

" _Jierda!_ " Ikharos roared. The stone cracked. " _Jierda! JIERDA!_ "

The weakened portion of the gate ruptured and crumbled to dust. He and Formora darted inside. Before the Frames could follow them, Ikharos tossed a Voidwall grenade into the hole. They didn't stick around long enough to see whether the robots tried to follow them through the indigo flames.

* * *

Inside the grand wall was a classical city of monochrome. There wasn't a shred of colour to be found anywhere.

The two kept running until their breath ran out and they were positive nothing had followed them, stopping in an alleyway between two grey villas. Ikharos doubled over and fell to a knee, utterly spent, gasping for air. It was a few minutes before they could even so much as speak.

"What..." Formora began, "Was... that?!"

"Combat... Frames..." Ikharos replied. "Arti... ficial... soldiers. I don't... know why... they're here. Stolen... most likely..."

"From... whom?"

"Scipio." Ikharos paused. "There must be... more than Frames... here... but... how did the Dark... control them?"

Xiān floated into view. Formora stiffened. Ikharos felt sorry for her. "Later," he said.

The Ghost twitched nervously. "You're not going to like this."

"What is it?"

"The Frames are, or were, receiving a signal streaming orders. Mostly along the lines of _KILL KILL KILL_ , yada yada, you get the idea. And the signal? Guess where it came from."

"Here." Ikharos closed his eyes. "Find anything else?"

"Yeah. They aren't stolen. Those are basic combat Frames, you know, peacekeepers. Security for the envisioned colony. They're working for the same thing they've always worked for. The signature matches that of a ExSec Submind."

"The Submind is here?"

"Yes."

"Not with Scipio."

"That's right."

Ikharos sighed. "That's just great. So we have to-"

A faint howl - shrill with pain - interrupted him. It began to rapidly change to a lower pitch. Ikharos grimaced and checked both exits on either end of the alley.  
"The Ahamkara's changing form." He forced himself to stand upright, leaning the longsword against his shoulder. Ikharos sent Formora a sympathetic look. "Want to stay here or come with me?"

"With you," she answered without a moment's hesitation, glancing around fearfully.

"Then we have a dragon to hunt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Another thanks to Nomad Blue for the editz


	23. Harmonic Hues II

Hunting Ahamkara was tricky business. Ikharos likened it to tracking boar in the wilds. Both were smart, aggressive, and incredibly dangerous at close quarters. The only difference was that the Wish-Dragon could kill him once and for all. He was well aware that at any moment the hunt could be turned around, and he would be the prey.

"Don't fight it, no matter what," he warned Formora. "It's not like other lifeforms. It shatters reality by just existing. Do not, _do not_ , lower the nullscape, or it will kill you in an instant. They feed off desire. Stray thoughts and open minds are a death sentence."

"I understand," Formora nodded numbly. Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword and the grip of the sidearm he'd tossed her, her knuckles going chalk white.

Ikharos exhaled. "Alright. Xiān, equipment, now."

"On it," the Ghost's eye dimmed as she rummaged around the vault. Formora never let Xiān leave her sight.

Ikharos tossed aside his remaining gauntlet, put down the Rider's longsword, and slid on the replacements dropped by his Ghost. Bracers of metallic turquoise feathers protected his forearms, glittering green and purple when the light caught them just right. Sleek bone and scales of a long dead beast shielded his hands, forming claws on his index, middle, and ring fingers. Ikharos could feel the potential of the unorthodox materials keenly. The feathers helped him gather the Void and the claws were a perfect medium for the hungry abyss to pass through. He found he could grasp that thin thread of power far more easily than before, which was a breath of relief; he had too little Light as it was. It didn't help that where they were was a Darkness zone, saturated in Light-inhibiting energies.

His Braytech armour, battered and broken beyond repair, was replaced with elegant flowing blue robes and silver armour. Each thread, each plate, was meticulously worked over by Awoken armoursmiths to achieve a perfect balance between mobility and protection.

His replacement bond - a golden circlet - threw out a small blue hologram of a drawn hunting bow. Along with that, he tossed a mechanical quiver onto his back and lifted up the carefully maintained combat bow. He unfolded the weapon and tested the steel thread string. It was in excellent condition, making a faint _twang_ as he let go. Ikharos reached over his shoulder and the quiver ejected two arrows for him to grasp and pull out.

Formora gasped and stared. She reached out and then thought better of it. "What is all this?"

"Compound bow with a titanium weave string and holographic sights. Reverie Dawn armour, best in the Reef, and meant to survive the horrors of the Dreaming City. And this," he tapped the bond with a finger, "is fitted with Techeun jewel-augments and an anti-acausal sigil." Ikharos rolled a shoulder - the armour was flexible enough to allow for the movement. "This isn't my first Ahamkara hunt."

"I've never seen a bow like that..."

"Yeah. This type of bow is usually more energy-efficient than other bows, through use of a pulley system."

"Not this one?"

"No. This one needs considerable strength. That's on purpose, so that each arrow has the strength to penetrate an Ahamkara's armoured hide." He held up two of the arrows, one which had a tip that separated into four wicked blades. Both were made of sleek lightweight steel and fletched with polymer fins. "Hollowed fixed-blade broadhead. Each has a small chamber close to the point filled with Void. It delivers a potent venom that will kill most everything twice over. This, on the other hand, is a hollowed bodkin arrow, filled with Arc. Each arrow sends thousands of volts into its target." He fitted the broadhead to his bow and put the weapon down, then drew his Lumina and began reloading it.

"And... what of these?" She gestured to his hands.

Ikharos slid bullet after bullet into the hand cannon's chamber. "The prize of Venus. I fashioned them during the Great Hunt after I killed my first Ahamkara. Bones were all the rage back then. I've since neutered all residual ontopathic tendencies after seeing what they did to other Guardians. This is my hunting garb. The mark of my trade. I've only ever worn all this during the Great Hunt and the first cleansing of the Dreaming City. It provides the necessary boosts to take down beasts like this. Without other Guardians or any means to recharge my Light more quickly, we'll need every advantage we can get."

Formora looked up into the reflective visor of his helmet. "And it will protect you?"

"Not entirely. Just from the worst of it."

"Is... is there any for me?"

"I don't have another suit of Braytech if that's what you're asking, buuuut... maybe there's a couple of things. I might have a few spares." Ikharos told her, speaking as softly as he could. He mentally ordered more items from Xiān. Then he gently grasped Formora's arm and fitted a brace, lifted a small circular buckler shield, and activated the magnetic lock. The shield attached to the bracer and held firm. Formora peered closely at it.

"It doesn't weigh much," she remarked.

"No. It's a Sentinel Shield, forged of hadium steel. It was a gift from a friend, but shields aren't for me, so you can have it. It'll ward away stray bolts or flames, just don't get into the thick of things. Even the best of armour doesn't hold for long." Ikharos sighed and handed her a helmet. "Here. The Obsidian Mind. It has a radar. If it flashes red, that means hostiles are nearby."

"Thank you," the elf whispered, slipping it on. The wide shaded visor showed a dark and distorted reflection of himself, muddled by angles and the off-putting lighting.

"Wait." He reached to the side of her helmet and activated the comms unit, syncing their channels. "We'll be able to speak over some distance with these. I don't think there's anything..." He remembered something and instantly quashed the idea. "Yeah, that's all I have. Sorry I don't have more. I didn't think I'd have to fight another dragon."

"It isn't a dragon," Formora shivered and looked up and down the alley. "Dragons aren't like that."

"Yes, they are." Ikharos reloaded his Lumina - he had another few rounds left and that was it - and holstered it. He holstered the hand cannon, folded up the bow with the arrow still readied, and held up the purple sword. It glittered in the dim greyed light, a previously unseen pattern dancing down the blade like a serpent.

Formora's breath hitched and she stepped closer. "Give me that!"

Ikharos was too surprised to put up much of a struggle. "But I... I'll need something! I'm running low, here!"

"Use your other sword. The one of flames."

"I can't, that was Light! I won't have enough to do that again for weeks!" The extra length might be able to keep the Wish-Dragon at a distance. Nothing frightened him more than those creatures. Not even Oryx, for all his terrible might.

The Ahamkara bellowed. It wasn't far off. Formora looked so very conflicted, then shoved the purple longsword into his hands. "Afterwards, return it to me," she sternly told him.

"Of course." Ikharos would agree to anything at that moment. His supplies were running out fast. A gun was useless to him when it couldn't fire. He couldn't help but think back to the last time he had fought a dragon; Riven had bitten deep into the Guardians' ammo reserves. And then she had bitten into _them._

He shivered. Ikharos never wanted to experience anything like that again.

"Remember, nullscape up," he warned. Formora nodded.

* * *

There were more Frames within the city, and those were fresher. They were armed guards, and they moved in roving bands with the perfect synchronisation of trained military units. Ikharos and Formora danced around them, keeping out of sight and using magic to cover their heat signatures, but it was a close call each and every time. Frames didn't have the limitations of living soldiers.

They followed the trail of blood further and further into the city. Ikharos estimated that, given its size and the close press of tall buildings, it could house millions. Such a massive settlement would have been bound to attract attention, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it was contained in a pocket dimension, and the gateway they had discovered was the sole entrance.

The sky was completely dark, devoid of even stars or clouds. Dozens of miles away, looming above all else, was a colossal ovoid monument that exuded a stark brightness from every inch of its surface, illuminating all around it. The places not directly within view of it were lit up with greyed lamps. Ikharos wondered what grudge the architects had against other colours.

They weren't always so lucky. Just when he thought they were closing in on the wish-dragon, a bundle of robots swung out from behind a building and raised rifles.

"Down!" He heard himself yell, and pulled Formora with him behind a low garden wall. A bullet slammed into his shoulder and ricocheted off his shoulder plating. He folded up his bow and attached it to the quiver, then tore the Lumina from its holster and fired off three shots. His targets fell, and one of the bullets tore through the fragile innards of one robot to carry through into another behind it. Four was a good number.

Formora ducked her head and raised her shield. She held up the sidearm and pulled the trigger. She killed all of one drone. The recoil surprised her, evidently. Ikharos frowned with disapproval; that would have to be addressed, but after he'd dealt with the attackers.

"I count fourteen," he said. "They're separating. Trying to surround us."

"What do we do?"

Ikharos formed a grenade in his hand and tossed it overhead. It landed in the midst of the robots and spouted limbs that shot out and grasped the Frames, pulling them in. He'd been about to open fire, but the elf beat him to it.

" _Brisingr!_ " Formora snapped. The Frames were engulfed in a contained explosion and ripped apart. Not one was left standing.

Ikharos holstered his cannon. "Nice going. We need to move. The noise must have attracted others. We don't want to be here when a veritable army of them comes rushing in."

"Their weapons!" Formora exclaimed.

Ikharos clicked his fingers. "Yes!"

They vaulted over the wall and raced to the torn husks of the drones. Red-hot shrapnel littered the concrete pavement, making their movement difficult. Ikharos snatched up the first rifle he found and recognized it immediately: a Braytech Winterwolf.

"Damn good hardware," he remarked. The weapon glowed with heat, but the model was notoriously resilient. He spied another three in salvageable condition among the wreckage. "Xiān?"

"Got 'em." The Ghost appeared, transmatted the rifles away, and disappeared.

Ikharos gave the scrap pile another glance over, but nothing grabbed his attention. "Let's move."

Formora followed his lead as they delved ever deeper into the maze of a city. The silence unnerved him. Even if the people were absent, there should have been birds. Rats. Even weeds. But there wasn't a single living thing.

* * *

They cornered the blinded Ahamkara in an alley with only one exit. Ikharos drew his bow and sternly told Formora, "Stay out of this. You don't want to get involved. Trust me."

"Trespasser!" The wounded dragon snarled and gnashed its teeth. The Gatekeeper's body was like that of a huge bat, with abnormally large ears to compensate for the lack of sight. Its head was shaped like a lion's, but with huge sabre teeth sliding past the lower jaw. Its long rat-like tail whipped back and forth, tipped with a chitinous blade. "You will die for your sins!"

"I'll leave you to it." Formora looked up and about for Frames. "Be quick."

Ikharos inclined his head and loosed the broadhead. It struck home, hammering into the Ahamkara's shoulder. It screeched and tossed about, trying to dislodge the bolt, then raised its wings to escape. Ikharos quashed that hope by sending an Arc arrow into its wing. It fell back down as electricity coursed through it, the flesh sizzling where the arrow pierced.

"Tr-tr-tresssspa-assser!" Qortho wailed.

"You're not going anywhere," Ikharos growled. He sent three more Void broadheads into its body as it summoned the courage to charge straight at him, using its wings as forelegs in the frenzied scramble

Ikharos rolled out of the way and sent another shaft into its hind leg. The monster convulsed and swung its head about, snapping its jaws just where he had been standing. Ikharos continued to back away, putting more and more envenomed missiles into it until the broadheads ran out, and the front of the dragon bristled with arrows.

"Tres..." It seethed as it crawled. Ikharos put away the bow and drew the purple longsword. The dragon's ears twitched as the metal scraped against the scabbard, but it wasn't deterred in the slightest. "Master..."

The Warlock ducked beneath the wild lash of its tail and sliced off the bladed end. The monster tried to hurtle its mass against him, but he Blinked past and bloodied its exposed flank. A collection of glowing violet cracks began to emerge across the Ahamkara's body, alerting him that the venom was at work.

The dragon suddenly bellowed and opened its maw. Ikharos darted to the side as a steady stream of flames burst out and enveloped the alley. His personal shield cracked and shattered, utterly depleted, but he managed to avoid the fire. Unfortunately, it left little room to maneuver. Ikharos Blinked up past the burning pool of flames and to the side of the Ahamkara, shoving the longsword into its flank and using his momentum to tackle it. The dragon yelped and slammed against the wall of the alley, shaking the neighbouring building.

Ikharos grunted and put all his effort into forcing the monster down, his arms holding tight to the rough-furred mass of the beast. The clawed fingers of his gauntlet sank into its tough skin, keeping a steady grip. Qortho struggled wildly, but the effects of the venom and all the injuries it had sustained had left it diminished, and it collapsed under the strain. It weakly snorted, trying in vain to get back up. Ikharos let go, tore out the sword, and raised it up to deliver a fatal downwards strike.

A bullet ripped past the side of his helmet, throwing him off-kilter, and his longsword only glanced off the dragon's ribs. Qortho bucked him from its back and dragged itself away. Ikharos would have followed if a hailstorm of bullets hadn't begun to pepper him. He Blinked away and drew his Lumina, shooting the heads off four Frame gunners by the alley's entrance.

Next thing he knew, a figure was beside him, wrenching the cannon out of his hand and slamming a heavy fist against his stomach. Ikharos stumbled back and lashed out with a palm strike, the shockwave tossing the attacker away. The Warlock found himself staring at the grim visage of a military-grade Exo, clad in tight black body armour with silver faceplates and pink eyes.

More bullets forced him back. He spotted a new line of Frames at the end of the alley, moving in with quick mechanical movements, their empty lifeless optics only for him. He could hear more gunfire behind them, as Formora clashed with another bunch.

Ikharos threw a grenade into the midst of the robots. They died noiselessly, ruptured by Seekers, but the Warlock had no time to savour the victory. The Exo came in close, holding a combat knife, and sliced at him with methodical prowess. Ikharos ducked and dodged, he danced and darted, but the Exo never tired. He didn't expect it ever would.

He tried to fight back, but a sword was ill-suited for such a close-quarters brawl, and the blade was sent clattering away. Ikharos, however, accounted for that, and while he used the durable feathers of his bracers to ward away blows, he picked up the Rider's sword with his mind and slung it straight back. It pierced the Exo's chest, stopping it before it could deliver a final flourishing slice that would have taken his throat. The mechanical thing - once human - looked dumbly down at the purple blade that sliced right through its body to emerge on the other side.

Ikharos didn't give it time to comprehend its predicament, slamming a fist against its face and crushing the sleek silver skull with a shower of sparks. He stared down at the corpse with obvious surprise, and tugged the sword free of its dead husk. "Troubleshooter?" He asked aloud.

" _Looks it._ " Xiān agreed. " _Like Morgan. Or Felwinter. That body is ExSec._ "

A primal grunt diverted his attention. The dragon was scaling the building at the end of the alley, each movement laggard and hesitant.

"Not this time," Ikharos stated, and he threw the Rider's sword. The blade took it in the spine. The Ahamkara gave one final scream and fell on its back, hammering the sword in. Its chest rose once, twice, but it never reached a third.

**000**

The shield provided ample protection, but a graze on her shoulder from a stray bullet taught Formora that seeking cover was more ideal. The Frames stopped firing, however, when a new figure raced past them and straight for her. She lifted the shield just in time to prevent it sticking a knife into her neck, and raised the projectile weapon she'd used on Frames, but the new creature laughed and grabbed her wrist as quick as any elf and twisted. She cried out as the bones snapped and the gun fell from her limp grasp. She struggled and the stranger let her go, grinning with its strange metal jaws. An unsettling magenta light glared out from both its eyes and maw, throwing her off. Never, in all her years as a Rider, had she ever encountered a creature like this. Or any of the monstrosities here, for that matter.

"You shouldn't have come!" The creature teased. It sounded masculine, but its voice had the same unusual echo as Ikharos' had when he spoke through his helmet. "It feels like yesterday since I last killed one of your kind!"

She lifted the shield and tried her best to block every strike. The stranger took his time - he was enjoying it. Her only consolation was that the Frames weren't shooting her down.

"Who are you?!" She demanded, working over the wording of a spell in her mind. Her sword! She needed her sword! The energy within the garnet would be more than enough!

The stranger tilted his head, still grinning. "Kohen Three, servant of the Master."

"Gah, stop playing with it!" Another voice called out. A second metal creature like Kohen Three stalked past the Frames. They looked much closer to humans or elves than the other lifeless constructs did. "Qortho's still in trouble!"

"Let the lizard rot!" Kohen Three angrily shot back. Formora was glad for the split-second chance to catch her breath. "He deserves-"

A mighty crash interrupted whatever he had been about to say. When the smoke cleared, only Ikharos stood amidst the carnage that had once been the Frames and the other metal creature.

Kohen Three froze and stared. "Oh shit," he said simply.

"Oh shit," Ikharos agreed, and shot him in the head. His sword was slick with blood and gore; she assumed that meant he'd finished with Qortho. His armour was scratched, but he looked otherwise unharmed. He looked her over. "Are you alright?"

Formora nodded. " _Waíse heill,_ " she muttered. Her arm mended, she picked up her sword and sheathed it. "Is it finished?"

"Yeah." Ikharos didn't sound very sure. "I think. Still Dark, though."

"What does that mean?"

"That the Gatekeeper wasn't the source. Didn't it say something... about a Master?"

Formora shrugged. The last few hours had been a horrific blur of chaos and panic. She looked down to Kohen's prone form, a smoking hole between his dimmed eyes. "What is this... thing?" She poked the body with her boot.

"Troubleshooter Exo. Specialists in everything from assassination to sabotage. Weapons of a Warmind." Ikharos scooped up a Frame's weapon and tossed it to her. "Or a Submind."

"Are they the source of Darkness?"

"No. They're human-made, and humans aren't Dark. We're more in tune with the Light, as is everything we make. We can, however, be corrupted by the Dark." He looked about. "The Ahamkara didn't do this."

"They called the Gatekeeper 'lizard.'" Formora said. "They didn't respect it very much."

"Really? Then it definitely wasn't that monster. Think you can keep going?"

Formora really wanted to say no. "At what point do we turn back?"

"When we kill the source."

"What if we don't?"

"Then we might have a world-ending scenario very soon. By breaching its defenses and killing its servants," Ikharos jerked his head in the direction of the alley, "We might panic it into hurrying its plan. Whatever plan it might be. Can't be a good plan; creatures of the Darkness have a tendency to disregard the sanctity of life."

"And you don't?" She challenged. Surviving yet another life-threatening encounter had emboldened her.

Ikharos chuckled. "Touché." She had no idea what that meant. "But I believe in preserving innocent life. Of humanity at large."

Formora huffed. "Not elves? Or dwarves, for that matter?"

"Elves are part of humanity too-"

Something quick, something _big_ , flew out of the alley and slammed its heavy head into Ikharos, flinging him into the buildings across the street. The Ahamkara breathed in rapidly, its coat of fur falling away in clumps as thick reddish-brown scales grew to replace it. The ears gave way to twisted horns, and new yellow eyes opened up across its skull. Now, it truly resembled a dragon. It glared right at Formora.

"Oh shit," she echoed, and pulled the trigger. A barrage of bullets exploded out of the weapon; evidently, accuracy was not the core aim. Or perhaps she was just unaccustomed to such tools of death.

The dragon - for it truly was one - roared and loosed a river of flames. Formora raised her shield and hunkered down. It held, only just, and as the fire ripped past, she could feel the searing heat on her skin from mere proximity.

When it ended, she drew her sword and shouted, " _Jierda!_ "

The energy generated by the spell thundered forward and slammed into the dragon with a crash, tossing it back. The shapeshifter opened its wings to slow its fall and pierced the stone road with its claws to keep a grip. When the magical force passed, it jumped and beat its wings, flying towards her.

A massive orb of Void energy struck it out of the air. The dragon screamed, and Formora flinched as the shrill sound assailed her ears - it was far too familiar for comfort.

Ikharos ran in with his sword at the ready and, as Qortho snaked its head towards the Risen for a bite, the warrior struck the side of the dragon's head with the longsword, raking a bloody scar across its face.

Formora was close behind, all fears forgotten. This was a battle she understood. When the claws of the beast reached for her, she deflected them away with the resilient shield and stabbed her sabre into the vulnerable tendons of the limb. During this, Ikharos had somehow managed to get past the fangs of the beast and leapt onto its back, slamming his sword down with all his strength on the space between spines, where the saddle of a bonded dragon would be placed.

Qortho shrieked and reached back to snag him with its teeth, and in doing so exposed its neck. Formora wasted no time in thrusting her sabre forward, then slicing it horizontally, opening up the Gatekeeper's throat.

It did not take long to die. With one final call that reverberated about the city, the Gatekeeper perished. Ikharos and Formora retreated and watched as the flesh melted away in a sudden influx of green fire, leaving gleaming ivory bones. Ikharos wordlessly destroyed the remains with a wave of terrible Void.

Then he turned, and though they both wore helmets, Formora could tell he was scrutinizing her. Finally, he said, "Well done. You've killed an Ahamkara."

Formora heard the praise but didn't feel like she deserved it. She just killed a dragon, though she knew it was a falsehood. That didn't prevent the horrible emotions welling up in her. For a moment she wished she could be as cold a killer as Ikharos. Guilt was a disgusting thing that dragged her to the recesses of sanity. It was almost as bad as loss. "I thought you already killed it?"

"So did I. I guess I should have stayed back to make sure, but I heard your fight with the Exos and I made my decision. But hey, we're alive and they aren't, so..." He gave her a thumbs up.

Formora, too tired to humour him, groaned. "Are we finished here?"

"Not yet. Soon, I hope." He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for helping me, Formora."

Gratitude. That was new. She could hang onto that, like a lifeline to tug her out of the oppressively cold waters. "You're welcome," she answered with a degree of uncertainty.

Ikharos nodded and began walking in a random direction. "Come on."

"Where to?"

"I'll hazard a guess and say that the monument at the centre is pretty important."

* * *

They had been in the city for the better part of a day by the time they reached the monument. They had encountered a couple of other packs of Frames, but it was nothing they couldn't handle. Though each was a battle for their lives, they'd developed a working system. Ikharos would tether the constructs with the Void all together, and Formora would cast a spell to destroy them. She found that merely disconnecting certain parts of them - such as the neck joint - was far less costly than tearing them apart with a full-on explosion.

They were resilient and perfect soldiers, she would admit, but they had no way to combat magic. Still, she could see them taking mages by surprise with their damage-resistant bodies, lack of thoughts, and single-minded determination. They didn't fear. They could not be bartered with. But they were unimaginative.

When the buildings gave way to the monument, they found it surrounded by a wide circular plaza. The centre of it gave way for the gargantuan hovering object, lined with railings, and hole beneath descended into an eternal abyss. But they never truly focused on that. No, their attention was on the ovoid.

It was clear and bright, cut of a smooth shining diamond with not a single flaw. Within floated a vaguely humanoid figure curled up into a fetal position. Its skin was silvered metal, and this looked natural as opposed to the artificial design of Frames or Exos. Twin horns spread outwards from its skull like outstretched wings. It had no face, just a single jewel in the centre, dulled and dimmed. Its form was lined with muscle, with a powerful body and lithe digitigrade legs. And it was tremendously enormous. The creature within the monument rivaled great Belgabad, largest of the dragons, for sheer size.

It made Formora feel very, very small.

"What is that?" She whispered. She feared that if she spoke loudly enough, it would wake.

Ikharos didn't answer for a moment. When she turned, Formora found him inspecting an inscription on the floor, but she did not recognize the runes. Fortunately, Ikharos read it aloud for her benefit.

" _He is that which is end. That which covets sin. The final god of pain—the purest light, the darkest hour. And He shall rise again. When the guiding shine fades and all seems lost He will call to you. Fear not. All He offers is not as dark as it may seem. For Nezarec is no demon, but a fiend, arch and vile in ways unknown. He is a path and a way, one of many. And his sin—so wicked, so divine—is that he will never cower when dusk does fall, but stand vigilant as old stars die and new Light blinks its first upon this fêted eternity._ "

Formora shivered as the cold trickle of fear ran up her spine. "What is that?" She repeated.

This time he answered. "Nezarec. A god of pain and strife. Forged in the Darkness. I've heard of him through hacked Cabal records and old Awoken whispers, but I never thought... Oh. Is he... he can't be."

"Is he what?"

"He must be the Ascendant." Ikharos looked back to the giant within the diamond prison. "But these aren't Hive glyphs. The statement is repeated in a dozen languages, including Ulurant and High Eliksni." Ikharos paused. "He doesn't serve the Hive, obviously." An idea must have struck the Risen, for his voice took on a hurried note. "He's feeding!"

"On what?"

"Hive gods feed on death and destruction, but this world is still alive... Pain. Strife. That's the tribute offered up. It fits the transcription. His lessers and supporters are sowing misery as far as his presence can reach, like Ascendant Hive rely on their broods to offer sustenance." Ikharos twirled around. "The Shade!"

"Shade?" Formora asked, puzzled. "What Shade?"

"I fought a Shade a few months back. That's how the Darkness - Nezarec - discovered me. Because of a puppet. But he didn't kill me because he's not like the Hive! He's not Oryx, he doesn't kill for sustenance, he just wants to cause fear and misery! It's so much more efficient to use a living world and leech off of it. But it's slow, so... The temporal anomaly!"

Formora stared at him. He almost sounded giddy. "The time trap?"

"No... Yes! Exactly! He uses time to isolate this planet. Four hundred Earth years pass outside, but it's thousands of years here. He can gather his power, build up his strength. But for what?" Ikharos paused. "What does he want?"

A terrifying thought struck her. "You're saying that Shades are his puppets?"

"They must be. I haven't seen anything else remotely related to the Darkness, aside from Nezarec himself. They spread chaos. They are extensions of Nezarec's will."

"But what if someone has been influenced by Shades? Are they connected to this... Nezarec?"

"Possibly?" Ikharos began to pace around. "Scipio warned me of an infection. That could be how Nezarec earned the loyalty of the Submind and its security units... Why do you ask?"

"The king has a Shade."

Ikharos dipped his head. "Yes, he did. I've seen it riding with a contingent of soldiers escorting something... But they weren't affected in the slightest and the Shade is dead. Infection must necessitate longer periods of exposure. Or perhaps a ritual."

"You killed it?" Formora had an inkling to who that might have been, but there was no way to know for sure. It had been decades since she was in the fold. The king could have recruited another.

"Yeah, I shot him."

"Which part of him did you shoot?"

"The head."

Formora shook her head. "He isn't dead. Unless a Shade is stabbed, or perhaps shot, through the heart, then they will reform elsewhere. The process is excruciating for them, and a sure way to earn their ire, but they will return more powerful than before."

"I didn't kill it?" Ikharos was aghast. She couldn't imagine why.

She shook her head. "No." Formora glanced at the giant. She refused to think of it as a god, but every revelation Ikharos brought argued against that view. "And Galbatorix is closer to Durza than any mere soldier."

"Durza?"

"A Shade in his employ and perhaps the very one you fought. Galbatorix met it as he trekked through the wilds after he lost his dragon, Jarnunvösk. Durza taught him dark secrets and spells. The king still uses them to this day."

"Then he's another puppet," Ikharos decided. His jaw tightened. "Nezarec might not be in direct control, but he's certainly pulling the strings."

" _That_ is behind it all? The Fall? The countless murders?" Formora pointed to the creature, Nezarec. She could scarcely believe any of it. "It's responsible for all the tragedies that occurred?"

Ikharos nodded. "It is."

She gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on her sword. She could have very easily been dubious, but the idea of vengeance in whatever form was too sweet to pass up. _Vengeance_ _._ Too long had she waited to act upon it. "Then how do we kill it?"

Ikharos removed his helmet. He didn't appear optimistic, if the grim expression was anything to judge. "We can't."

"Why not?" Formora demanded hotly.

"Because he's still receiving tribute. We can't reach him without waking him up, which puts us at a severe disadvantage. He's almost as powerful as Oryx. We'd need more Guardians, for a start, but Scipio won't let me leave this world." The Risen gave it some thought. "We could starve him. Force him into waking in a weakened state. We couldn't do that with Oryx because he had an obscene amount of Hive working for him, but this guy is different. If we destroy his servants, that should have an impact. It'll still be a risk, but better than letting him continue until he needs this world no longer."

"We must hunt down every Shade we can find?"

"And anyone else acting in Nezarec's interest. This king sounds like the perfect proxy for a dark god."

Formora nodded along eagerly. "So the king dies?"

"He dies, along with every Shade we can find. Especially Durza," Ikharos vowed. He gazed up at the sleeping monster with obvious disdain. "And then I move onto this _psesiskar._ "

**000**

"This city must be his Throne World," Ikharos murmured. A warm pulse informed him that Xiān agreed. It resembled Eleusinia more than High War.

Beside him, Formora hummed a tune he wasn't familiar with. Since they'd left the monument - with Nezarec still sleeping soundly inside - she'd been in a very chipper mood. He'd try to understand why later; right now he had the urgent matter of a Darkness-imbued deity to think over.

The Frames made that difficult. The drones still in operation were riled up, and converged on the duo at almost every block with reckless abandon, but each offensive was quickly put down. He and Formora performed a systematic slaughter of the robots at every skirmish. They found no sign of other Exos, but Ikharos doubted there had only been three in total. He figured that the Submind was holding them in reserve - Frames were cheap, but Exos were too valuable to throw away, and he'd already put down three of their number.

The worst part was the gates. The Void flames had long since run out, but the horde remained. The old rusted Frames shambled towards them like horror film monsters.

"Wait," he said, before Formora could utter the words to fight back. He grabbed her shoulder and dragged her in the eternal abyss waiting beneath the fabric of reality. He forcibly grasped the hungering beyond and molded it into a tunnel, a corridor with two doors, and let go.

With a bang, he and Formora landed on the sandspit right by the small ship they'd arrived in. The elf stumbled away and breathed rapidly, falling to her knees. Ikharos exhaled in relief. The absence of Darkness was a blessed feeling. He felt free, like a caged bird whose confines had been broken open.

"We just... you... Warn me next time!" Formora barked.

Ikharos smiled. "Sorry." He stretched his arms. "Aaaah. This is a good feeling...

"What is?" Formora grumbled.

"Victory. The universe has one less Ahamkara to worry about. Ready to leave?"

"Yes." She climbed onto the nameless boat. Ikharos looked back a final time into the murky distance. He'd have to return at some point. And challenge an Ascendant-level threat on its home turf. If it had been in Sol, with the Traveler's Light washing over everything and reinforcements only ever a few minutes away, he wouldn't think twice before throwing himself into the fray, but here he was alone. Here he had to wait days for enough Light to create a Super. The odds weren't in his favour.

"Hurry up!" Formora called.

Ikharos huffed and rolled his eyes. "No patience..." He muttered. He joined her and pushed the ship away from the shore with a push of an oar. "What's our heading?"

"Vroengard. I must gather the Eldunarí and the rest of the swords. And you're going to answer my questions."

"Ah. Yes. That. Let's get home first, yeah?"

**000**

Utter devastation littered the street. She would have been impressed by the level of destruction if it hadn't been for the dreary clean-up assignment.

She found Kohen with a bullet in his head. He'd taken it like a true champ. She was still going to give him hell for it.

"What happened here?!" Deacon-3 thundered past the 55-30 Frames and held out his arms in a dramatic fashion.

Sibyl-3 smiled just to make him nervous. "We missed the fun. Your mark came by. Tore right through the gates."

"Right through? What about the lizard?"

"Dead."

"Damn." Deacon stood there, his optics flickering rapidly. "What is-"

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sibyl kicked over Kohen's corpse, drew her combat knife, and pried out a spinal disc located just below the dead Exo's skull. She tossed it to Deacon. "Get him up. He has some explaining to do."

"He's going to be pissed."

"It's that or you explain to Zenobia just why _your_ mark not only escaped you, but _infiltrated_ the Master's city."

Deacon didn't stay long after that. Sibyl scoffed and moved onto the next body.

**000**

They left the ship by the shore with a rope tethering it to a firm rock and trekked back to the tower hideout. Ikharos was positive they would be using it very soon.

The moment they arrived, Formora went straight for her bags and produced a clear glass bottle. She loosed the stopper and took a gulp, then passed it over to Ikharos.

"What's this?" He asked.

"Faelnirv," she answered. "Drink it."

Normally he'd ask for a reassurance that it was safe, but he reckoned they were past that point. He delicately sipped it and found it pleasant on his taste buds. It reminded him of sweet cider that the Hunter packs found preserved in ancient cellars. None of it would ever make it to the city; packs would devour the stuff. It had often been his good fortune that he would be with them when they made those discoveries. "It's incredible," he breathed, and handed it back.

"Potent. It can keep a warrior marching for days with naught else to eat or drink."

"Useful," Ikharos mused.

"It takes time to make. I brewed this with elderberries and moonbeams over seven weeks."

"Certainly worth it." The taste lingered pleasantly. He felt his exhaustion fall away as renewed strength suffused his tired muscles.

She sat on her bed and looked at him expectantly. "Now's the time to explain it all to me."

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Yeah, thought you'd say that." He lowered himself down and knelt. "Where do you want to begin?"

"The part where you claim to be from another world."

"I am."

"Explain it."

"I'm from another planet. One called Earth. It's the birthplace of all humanity and most life seen on your planet. Fish, birds, horses, badgers, wolves, dolphins, trees, flowers, mushrooms, all of it came from Earth. They were brought along by a human colony ship that intended to seed this world."

"They sailed?"

"Not exactly, no. When I say ship, I mean spaceship. Ships that fly through the air and the nothingness of the space between worlds. Um... your planet is a sphere."

"I know that." Formora narrowed her eyes. "My people have known that for a very long time."

"Ever think what was beyond the atmosphere surrounding your world?"

"Stars?"

"The stars are suns of distant solar systems. Lots of those suns have planets that orbit them."

She paused, then nodded. "It makes _some_ sense. That must mean a lot of different peoples."

"No, I said planets. Most planetoids are lifeless rocks covered in ice. Only a small few have the right conditions to support life, and fewer still actually _have_ their own forms of life. But yes, there are a lot of different peoples. It's very rare, but intelligent life will find a way. And a handful of those intelligent species have survived to the present."

Formora blinked. "What do you mean? Is there a barrier that they must overcome?"

"Yeah. Mostly in the forms of other species. Let's use an analogy... You know about wolves, right? Let's say we brought a predator from a distant land and put it here, which begins a rivalry with a local wolf population. If they both prey on the same animals, they'd come into conflict. Eventually, one species will survive and the other will be rendered extinct. It's like that, but not for food. Intelligent species are more... complex. We have lots of reasons to fight each other. Maybe it's for resources. For old rivalries. For insults. For differing beliefs. For ambition's sake. For expansion. For slavery. Even just for the sake of fighting. There have been countless different sapient races throughout history, but only a few have survived, and fewer still stand dominant. I could count on one hand the different races who survived all the universe has thrown at them so far. Hive, the Uluru of the Cabal Empire, the Eliksni, and humanity. I'm excluding Vex because I'm not even sure if they're a species.  
"The Hive are the oldest of all those I've named, and they're the main cause of driving other species to extinction. They worship the act of killing. It's their chosen belief that they have been selected to exterminate all other living things in the galaxy. The Uluru are the dominant species of the empire they founded to span hundreds of worlds. They expend themselves fully into whatever project they've picked up, and war is not exempt. They've inducted dozens of other peoples as lesser citizens or slaves. The Eliksni have lived as outcasts everywhere. The Hive destroyed their home but couldn't manage to truly wipe out their hardy race. And humanity... well, we've had help, sure, but we've held our own because we're surprisingly gifted at waging war. We can change tactics and adapt to whatever threat we face quicker than most."

"Is your pet spirit one of those?"

"Xiān? Not a pet. A friend." He held out his hand. The Ghost appeared in his palm and met Formora's stare. "She's been with me from the very beginning. She's a Ghost, and they're unique in that they are direct descendants of the Light." Xiān retreated back to his mind. Formora turned her attention back to him, a cold face masking what he assumed to be nervousness or shock. It was hard to tell.

"What of elves?" She continued. "Are we not powerful enough?"

"Elves are part of humanity."

"We aren't humans," Formora objected.

"No," Ikharos said. "Not baseline humans, but you _are_ neohumans. A subspecies of human originating from _homo sapiens_ _._ The same goes for Awoken, Exos, and Urgals. I've not seen dwarves, but I've read that they're pretty humanlike, so likely them too. Your distant ancestors were humans. I don't know whether this evolution was a natural adaption or a byproduct of genetic manipulation, but the fact remains: elves are part of humanity as a people."

"We are too different from humans."

"No. No you are not." Ikharos smiled. "Pointed ears and a heightened affinity for paracausal abilities are the only real difference. We're diverging from the original point, let's rewind. There are lots of planets, but very few that can house life. The colony ship arrived here because this world is suitable for human habitation."

"What kind of vessel can fly through the air?"

"An awful lot. Remember that jumpship I pointed out in the graveyard before the grey city?"

"I do." Formora nodded.

"That's one such ship. They're designed so that even in the vacuum of space, the crew can live within insulated internal chambers. Spaceships possess engines. They're machines that power the rest of the functions of the ship by consuming fuel of one kind or another. Thrusters exert enough force to lift them up and away from the ground. It gets significantly easier once they leave the pull of gravity to move. Look, it's a technology that's been developed over hundreds of years. We could spend months discussing how they work, and we have other things to do in that time."

"Fine," Formora relented. "But I fail to see how an entire world could be populated by all the life packed away in a single ship."

"It's a big ship. And they didn't just bring live animals or full-grown trees. They brought embryos and seeds, enough to build up a healthy population."

"Embryos?"

"... Oh, come on!" Ikharos huffed. "Unborn offspring in the process of development. They would have been frozen during the journey and then born in a... Well, to put it simply, an artificial womb. When born, procedures would have been followed so that they follow the normal behaviour of whatever animal it is and released into the wild once the environment reached acceptable conditions of habitability."

"All this sounds too wild to be true."

"Yeah, the technology is advanced, and lost to the people of this world."

"Not to yours?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise. I arrived in my own ship, which was shot out of the sky by Scipio."

Formora tilted her head. "When?"

"During the summer of the previous year." Ikharos paused. "You know, that must be Nezarec's doing. I don't know why he'd make the length of years and cycle of seasons here identical to those on Earth. It's baffling."

"Is there any way to be sure this isn't some tale?"

"I could swear that it's the truth in the ancient language, but... Look, why don't I show you?"

"What do you mean?"

"We'll go to the _Exodus Prime_ tomorrow. I have a few things of my own to collect before we head back to the mainland anyway, so we were going to make that stop regardless. Might as well make the most of it."

She hesitated. "That would be... Is it safe?"

"As long as you don't threaten Scipio or Taox, you should be fine." Ikharos stood. "That fair?"

Formora nodded slowly. "I'll accept that."

"Excellent." Ikharos stood and went to leave. He stopped by the exit. "Thanks, again. Seriously. I might not have made it out alive without your help."

"I didn't do much," Formora admitted.

"You were an incredible distraction." Ikharos grinned.

She sighed, then lifted her arm. "What of your shield? And helmet? And... this?" She held out the sidearm. "Don't you want them back?"

"Keep them. I doubt I'd ever have used those anyways." Suddenly remembering the sword, he unstrapped the sheath from where it hung over his back and held it out. "How about I trade it all for this?"

Formora rose up abruptly. Even with a helmet on, Ikharos understood that stance. She walked over with a brisk pace and grasped the purple sword delicately, as if it were fragile and not one of the most resilient tools ever forged. Her visor dipped down as she gazed upon the weapon. Then, so quiet that it was a whisper, she said, "This was his sword."

"Whose?"

"Kialandí's."

" _Tread softly,_ " Xiān warned him. He didn't need to be told twice.

"Who is Kialandí?" Ikharos asked carefully.

Formora didn't answer for a very long time. When she did, she raised her head to meet his stare. "He was my brother."

"Oh," he said, unable to word anything else. No wonder she had an attachment to it. Now he felt guilty. "No trade then."

Formora ignored him, sliding her fingers over a small rune etched into the blade just above the silvered crescent-moon guard. "He named it _Orúm._ "

"That's the ancient language. What does it mean?"

"Serpent. When held up in the light of a full moon, the blade will glitter with scales."

A thought struck him. "What about your sword?"

"Mine?" Formora gave a bitter laugh. " _Vaeta_. Hope. Ironic, no?"

"Your brother was a Dragon Rider?"

"He was."

"And was he..."

"Forsworn? Yes. Galbatorix captured us when we were scouting the northern reaches of the Spine. We'd let our guard down; we didn't anticipate that anyone could survive without the assistance of a dragon in those cold wastes. There are fantastic things that way. Great beasts covered in thick fur that roam the vast stretches of snow, as large as the animals of the Beor Mountains."

Ikharos hummed thoughtfully. "I see." She spoke of him in past tense. Kialandí was almost certainly dead. Ikharos refrained from asking. He wasn't qualified to treat such wounds.

Formora handed it back. "Take it. I don't like longswords - they need both hands and I prefer to wield either magic or another weapon alongside my own sabre. And," she added quietly, "perhaps its luck has changed. I think you would put it to better use than he did."

"Thank you," Ikharos told her, meaning it.

* * *

By the next day they reconvened by the ship, hefting bags and supplies onto the wooden vessel. Ikharos was well-rested and in high spirits. Though the challenge ahead was daunting, he was glad to have found his purpose. The directionless and hopeless reality he'd faced before was oppressing; he hoped that the future would be simpler.

Formora was cheerful too. For the first time, Ikharos saw an innocent smile, brought forth by Xiān's eccentricities. The Ghost was much more of a people person than he ever was, and given time could disarm anyone with jokes and overexaggerated tales.

All in all, Ikharos wasn't upset about leaving Vroengard behind. Destroyed buildings and the constant threat of radiation poisoning, coupled with hostile predatory snails as large as Sparrows, were not his idea of a comfortable stay. On the other hand, he was glad for the opportunities the wild island granted him. He had learned how to cast a couple of spells and carry out the most basic of conversations in the ancient language with Formora. He'd found the answers he'd been searching for since his arrival on Kepler-186f.

They worked against the waves to paddle the small ship out of the hidden cove and followed the shoreline south. When they reached past the southern headland of Vroengard, Ikharos donned a wetsuit, had the ship halt in the middle of nowhere, and dove in. The waters were cold and clear, just as he remembered. The only thing he could see were the odd sparkle of tiny fish or a distant shadow in the depths below, which he suspected were sharks. Ikharos summoned a quick of Arc, which sent every nearby animal scurrying for safety, and waited. The dolphins weren't long in coming; they recognized his sounds by now and their hearing was acute enough to catch it from miles away.

" _killer - friend - fins - breathe! - happy! - worried - old machine - strong currents?_ " The first of them, a squeaking subadult, froze in place as it caught sight of the wooden ship's underside. " _danger! - curious! - friend?_ "

"It's alright, it's with me." Ikharos held out his hands, though he suspected the gesture would be lost on them.

Then another creature swept past the young dolphin. Ikharos almost panicked and went for his knife as he noticed the sheer size of it and dark colouring, for a moment thinking it a shark. He'd once spoken with a Hunter who swore up and down that the white sharks of the open ocean were as ferocious as Kells and far more deadly, proudly bearing the scars of an attack that nearly took his arm off. The teeth marks were gruesome, and it instilled in Ikharos a wariness of delving into the foreign habitats where the great predators lurked. The odds of attack were astronomical, but that didn't stop his mind from jumping to conclusions.

The animal passed by only inches away. Ikharos breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the tail fluke - it was horizontal, like whales and dolphins, as opposed to the vertical structure of sharks and fish. The strange animal swam around in a loop to see him once more, granting the Warlock a better view.

It was larger than any bottlenose dolphins, though it shared a similar body plan. The head was more robust and the skin was much darker.

It spoke like the dolphins, but the translator allowed for a deeper tone. " _friend - killer - respect - fight - shark - whale - serpent killer - knows song?_ "

"What are you?" Intrigued, Ikharos forwent his initial worries and kicked forward. The unusual dolphin peered back at him with one dark, beady eye. It was a powerhouse compared to the others, and they were strong animals themselves.

" _warrior - respect - killer - whales - serpent._ " It answered.

"A warrior breed." The concept fascinated him. "But what makes you different?"

It understood him clearly. " _mother - hears song - doesn't know song - sings different - father - knows song - sings true - duty - fight._ "

Ikharos blinked. "Ah. I _think_ I understand?"

" _respect,_ " it said once more.

"Respect," Ikharos echoed.

The abnormal dolphin trilled. " _respect!_ "

"Ye-es. Ok." He cleared his throat. "A friend of mine is on the ship above, and we need to reach the _Exodus Prime_ _._ Old machine, right? Can you lead us on?"

A trio of bottlenose dolphins joined their unusual brother and chittered amongst themselves. " _yes! - swim - strong current - sing - happy! - friend!_ "

He swam back to the ship, where Formora was waiting to help drag him back aboard. "What did you do?" She asked.

Ikharos jutted a thumb over the side. "I've found us guides."

She looked past him. He heard the snort of blowholes. "Dolphins."

"Yes."

"They're normally so skittish..."

"They call me friend." Ikharos smiled. "They're a treasure."

"What is that? The animal larger than the dolphins."

Ikharos shrugged. "Hybrid of some sort. Designated as a warrior caste, if I've understood correctly. Come on, they're waiting on us."

* * *

The dolphins led them some distance onwards. When they reached the submerged mountain - which wasn't anywhere in sight from the surface - they swam around the ship and splashed the water with claps of their tails.

Ikharos instructed Formora to wear the helmet he gave her.

"Xiān can give you air if you do. We're diving straight down. It'll be a hundred metres or so."

Formora gave him an odd look. "You should have told me before. I could have made arrangements."

"To dive? You have equipment?"

"Nothing so crude," she answered mysteriously. "I might have used magic to grant myself gills."

Ikharos grinned. Formora didn't. That was when he realized it wasn't a joke. "You're serious?"

"I am."

"That's... Ok, at some point we need to discuss the possibilities of magic in further detail."

Formora slid on the helmet. They slipped into the water and let themselves sink down below the calm surface. A small school of dolphins were loosely arrayed around them, swimming slowly. When they were ready, the dolphins led them down. The massive wreckage trailed as far as the eye could see, grasped by pulsing red fingers. The sight of Siva always put him on edge, and Ikharos hadn't even been on Earth by the time of the Siva Crisis.

Ikharos led the way from there, and he swam right into the hanger. When Formora emerged behind him, she kept looking about to take in the unfamiliar scenery. When she'd had her fill of staring, Ikharos marched with her through the expansive inside of the ship and to Taox's chamber.

The SMILE pod didn't open. They only found Frames waiting for them. The moment the robots walked into view, Formora visibly stiffened.

"They're Scipio's, not the Submind's," Ikharos told her. "And they're not combat Frames."

"What are they, then?" She whispered.

"Caretakers. Janitors. Shopkeepers. Builders. 55-30 series. Cheaper to build, weaker materials, less intelligent programming." A red light took over the optics of the Frames. "Not that the intelligence programming matters anymore. Scipio's here. Now they're whatever he wants them to be."

"Status report," the foremost Frame demanded in a deep modular voice.

The Warlock sensed more than saw her reach for a weapon. He briefly grabbed her wrist and shook his head, then said, "I killed an Ahamkara that called itself Qortho. There were Frames and a handful of Exos, nothing I couldn't handle. However, I would have liked to have received a forewarning about the Submind." Ikharos let go and clasped his hands behind his back.

"Inconsequential. Threat remains?"

Ikharos bristled, though forced himself not to act irrationally. There were still active turrets all around them. "Nezarec is alive, yes. What is he?"

"Subject species: _Qulantnirang._ Error: Abnormalities. Hypothesis: _Airan_ modification."

"Harmony," Ikharos breathed. "He's Harmony. But... nevermind." He shook his head. "Even if I could reach him, he'd be too powerful. I have a plan to weaken him and draw him out."

"Elaborate," Scipio ordered brusquely.

"It's a matter of paracausality. Nezarec functions almost identically to the Hive, whom I have clashed with in the past. Like their Ascendants, Nezarec functions upon an existential economy based on fear caused by himself. He is using the anomaly so that he can gather power more quickly than his rivals elsewhere, for his method is slower than straight slaughter. He has agents across the planet, or at least the nearby landmass, to gather this tribute for him and pass it on. He's hibernating, yes, but his will is at work. The titles used by the locals for these agents are Shades, and it's possible they've in turn manipulated others to gather this tribute too. I'd recommend an immediate airstrike on all such targets."

"Negative," Scipio replied. "Cannot carry out airstrike. Temporal anomaly disallows airstrike."

"Aw, psekisk." Ikharos angrily gritted his teeth. "Is there any way you can kill them?"

"Negative."

"Fine... Fine! I'll track them down. There can't be many, or Nezarec will risk drawing attention." He glanced at Formora. "She's an asset. I request that she be given a briefing, as her upbringing hasn't included... well, a lot of things."

The Frame turned its red optic onto her. "Designation?"

Formora fumbled for a response. "Wh-what?"

"He wants a name," Ikharos explained.

"Formora," She answered, then added, "Of the Láerdhon branch of House Rílvenar."

Scipio paused. "Affirmative. Genetic analysis identifies subject designated: Formora Láerdhon. Subject species: _Homo pythonicus_ _._ " The robot turned back to Ikharos. "Activating ARTORIUS subroutine. Subject: lifeform sustained by [O] energy. Rank: Troubleshooter."

"I'd rather not," Ikharos protested. He wasn't anyone's lapdog.

Scipio continued, heedless of his complaints. "Lifeform designation: Legate. Permissions: R5. Authorized to oversee THREAT: DUSKRISE. Activating CALIBURNUS subroutine. Error. Error. Error."

"What's happening?" Formora whispered.

"I'm... not exactly sure." Ikharos shrugged. "I can speak a lot of languages, but Warmind isn't one of them. I'm going to hazard a guess and say he's trying to support us. In his own way, of course."

"Support us how?"

"Hopefull let us requisition equipment if we so desire." Ikharos' eyes brightened. An eagerness overcame his growing frustration. "I'd like to see what he has squirreled away in the armoury."

"Provision: R5 specialist Kida 99-40."

"He's giving us a Frame," Ikharos surmised. "What about weaponry? IKELOS armaments?"

"Affirmative."

"That's good. Any operable jumpship?"

"Negative. Error. Negative. Error. Affirmative. Error: excessive damage."

"Can you fix it?"

"Negative. Provision: R5 specialist Kida 99-40."

"Yeah, yeah, I got that." Ikharos paused. He nodded to Formora. "If you want to start asking him questions, now's the time."

The elf took a deep breath. She appeared tense, but undeniably interested in all the Warmind had to offer. She asked, "What are you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editz. Lifesaver.


	24. Harmonic Hues III

"Conclusion: I am Scipio."

Ikharos wordlessly left her with the Frame to ask her questions. Formora had so many, but there were a select few she knew she _had_ to ask. Their importance could not be stressed enough.

"Are you from another world?" She questioned.

The Frame's circular crystal eye didn't blink. Not once. "Affirmative."

It wasn't in the ancient language. For all she knew, it could be a bare-faced lie, but the Warmind's voice held a tone she had never heard before. It sounded deeply intelligent, and completely unlike any other living creature. She remembered Ikharos telling her of the power wielded by Scipio, but she hadn't believed it at the time. Now, though, Formora could see it clearly.

She was in a place just as unreal as the hidden city to the north of Vroengard. Another location that the Riders, despite their thousands of years in power, had never found. There were powers at work that eclipsed the struggles of Alagaësia. An immortal warrior hailing from another world, a sleeping giant that fed on provoked misery, and now this. She didn't know what to make of the Warmind. It was, quite frankly, terrifying. She hadn't missed how Ikharos had struggled to withhold his mounting anger with the entity before them. Even he feared it.

Formora chose to believe Scipio, because she didn't think something so powerful would have any reason to lie. She wasn't sure if it _could_ lie. Whatever Warminds were, they weren't like elves, humans, dwarves, Urgals, or dragons. They were something else entirely, something that transcended flesh and bone.

"Were you created by humans?"

"Affirmative."

Formora closed her eyes. Humans were erratic creatures. They were short-lived, and in those short lives they strove to change the very world just so it would accommodate them. She never knew what drove Anurin, second leader of the Dragon Riders, to include them in the blood-pact with the dragons. So much would have been avoided if they hadn't been included. Galbatorix would have never risen.

But that was false and she knew it. Elves weren't perfect either, and it was the elven Riders who ruled that failed the Order nearly as badly as Galbatorix had. She had been forced, but others had chosen to turn on their former allies of their own accord.

Even so, what had inspired the humans to create Scipio? Did they face a threat so extreme that they had to create an entity just like the one before her? What could possibly drive them to do that?

"Why were you created by humans?" She asked.

"Function: Security." Scipio's single eye never left her.

"Security against what?"

"Analysis: hypothesized extrasolar threats."

"What does that mean?"

"Extrasolar threats: Hypothesized nonhuman organisms bearing hostile intent. Example: _Airan_ _._ "

"Nonhuman-!" Formora's mind whirled. "Everything that isn't human?!"

"Priority 1: Protect humanity."

"Just humanity?"

"Objective: Maximize human/neohuman survival."

It did little to reassure her. Ikharos had claimed elves to be neohumans - which was ridiculous - and the Warmind proclaimed that it protected humanity and neohumans. If it believed the same thing as Ikharos, then elves were part of those it protected. If it didn't, then her people were toeing a very fine line.

"Am I neohuman?"

"Affirmative."

That was better. Not great, but better. So it wouldn't wipe out her people if they so much as threatened the empire. They might have disowned her, but Formora had lingering loyalties to the elven people. She gave her next question some thought. "This place around us... Was it a ship?"

"Affirmative."

"It sailed through the skies and the airless place between worlds?" She distinctly remembered how the air would grow thin when she and her dragon tested how high they could fly.

"Affirmative."

"What happened to it?"

"Error: Classified."

It didn't want to say. There wasn't much she could do to change that, so she moved on. Formora rallied her courage and asked, "Are you a god?"

Scipio didn't give her an immediate answer. Formora, on a whim, opened up her mind and sent out a probe to extract her answers. She gasped. The Warmind wasn't like the Frames - it had a consciousness. And it was more vast and powerful than anything else she'd ever known. It encompassed the entire world.

**000**

The Frame was waiting in the hanger with a pulse rifle in its hands and a fusion cannon strapped to its back. It wore military-grade armour plating over its fragile struts and chassis, every inch of it painted a deep grey. The Warmind emblem was stamped dead in the centre of its chest. Its single squared optic glowed a bright orange. It gave Ikharos a salute as soon as he arrived.

"Designation: Kida 99-40, R5 Specialist." It said in its blank mechanical voice.

"Where's the rest of your unit?" Ikharos pressed. It seemed off that Scipio would give them only a single Frame.

"Destroyed during events of REDACTED. Fireteam unit involved in seventeen missions."

"Combat-orientated missions?"

"Affirmative."

Xiān whistled. "Seventeen missions. That's no small feat."

"Depends on the missions," Ikharos said, bearing an indifferent air, but his interest was undeniably piqued. "What's your combat effectiveness?"

"96 percent success rate. And I always get my kills."

Ikharos tilted his head. "Got a bit of personality in you?"

"I learn."

"Looks like another Arcite," Xiān noted. She looked back at Ikharos. "Let's keep him."

The Warlock cleared his throat. "I'm looking for armaments and supplies for fieldwork. Any idea where I can find some?"

The Frame nodded and pointed to a corridor to the side. A handful of crates scuttled in on insectoid legs, plopping down by his feet and opening up.

Ikharos glanced inside one. "That'll do it." He pulled out the sniper rifle and loaded it with a fresh magazine. It was outfitted with a Smart-Scope, tracking whatever he pointed at and feeding him relevant info - such as how durable the distant plasteel wall was.

Xiān grabbed all the good stuff and left him with a couple of choice portions. Ikharos carried the sheathed sword and the mechanical quiver, along with the folded compound bow, on his back, attached to his armour via magnets. He kept his Lumina in its holster by his side - he'd long since learned to have a firearm within easy reach at every moment. His knife was hidden away in a sheath on his boot. He decided to hold onto the sniper rifle.

"Pack up a couple of restraint spiders," he ordered of the Frame. The robot complied. "I expect we might see combat in due time. How's your tactical analysis?" He asked.

"Experienced. My heuristic programming has been rewritten a total of fourteen point six times."

"Where's the point six coming from?"

"I am currently acclimating my tactical analysis to your own methods of combat and demolition."

"My methods? Scipio recorded me, did he?"

"Affirmative. I admire how you handled the Urgals upon arrival to Kepler-186f. It is an honour to operate under the command of a trained soldier like yourself."

"For a machine, that's high praise," Xiān said. "We look forward to working with you, Kida."

The Frame looked at the Ghost. "Question: what is the function of unidentified drone?"

"Oh, I just... Drone?!" Xiān suddenly exclaimed. Her eye flashed angrily.

Ikharos waved the question aside. "Don't worry about it."

"Function: Don't worry about it. I understand." A curious lilt entered the Frame's bland voice. It sounded like amusement.

"Called me a drone... the bastard." Xiān sulked and decided to ignore the robot.

"So you're coming with us?" Ikharos looked into a second crate. It held orderly piles of packeted preserved rations. Xiān wordlessly transmatted it away. The third had survival equipment, including specialized tents capable of masking heat signatures and insulating those inside from the most extreme of conditions. Scipio was a handy ally to have, but all this didn't make Ikharos trust him any further. Warminds were too ruthless for blind faith. Acts of generosity weighed next to nothing with them. This wasn't a helping hand Scipio offered; this was an investment. He saw Ikharos only as a means to an end.

"Affirmative."

"Kida, some of the foes I face will disobey the laws of physics. Whatever I say goes, understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Alright," Ikharos nodded. He heard footsteps and turned to find Formora arriving. "Good, you didn't get lost. Scipio's offered us a whole lot of... what's wrong?"

Her face was pale with fright. She walked next to him and said, in a quiet voice, "He's a god."

Ikharos understood straight away. "Are you alright?"

"He's a god. But gods don't exist. They're just stories made up by dwarves and humans. Just stories." She looked all around them. "This is real."

"It is," Ikharos said carefully.

"Gods don't exist. And I've seen two." Her eyes searched Ikharos' own. "Are you a god?"

"No," he protested immediately. "No, no way."

"You're not human."

Ikharos froze. His next words were spoken slowly. "I used to be. Then I died."

"What are you now? You're immortal."

"I'm a godslayer. I kill whatever new threat rears its ugly head before it can wipe out humanity." He paused. "What's brought this on?"

"I looked at his mind." Formora shivered. "It's open. Unguarded. And no one, not even Galbatorix, would be powerful enough to conquer it."

"What did you see?" Ikharos pressed.

"Numbers. Just numbers. So many numbers. It carries on forever."

The Warlock nodded. "That's his programming. The equation for sapience."

"Can we leave?" She asked. "I don't like this place any more than the city."

"You're coming with me, then? You want to hunt Shades?"

Formora assumed a hard look. "I want to kill Galbatorix. You're offering a chance for just that. Of course I'm joining you."

"Here." He handed her the sniper rifle. "You need something more than just a sidearm. Still got that?"

Formora drew the pistol. Ikharos took it and reloaded it for her. The 18 Kelvins was a common weapon during the Golden Age, and Scipio had supplied the same ammunition it needed. He handed it back.

"There," he said. "Now you're armed. But even the best of weapons are useless if you're dead. Have anything to protect you? A shield and helmet aren't going to cut it."

"I have armour," Formora said hesitantly. "It's back on the ship."

"What's it made of?"

"Steel."

Ikharos shook his head. "Not going to work. Steel is too weak. It won't block a bullet. Or a Rider's sword, for that matter."

"It's warded."

"Then start warding this." He pulled out a piece of body armour from the fourth and last crate. It looked like a pauldron. "Bulletproof and fireproof. Mostly. Don't try to test that theory."

"What is it?" She sounded tired. Ikharos felt a spike of sympathy.

"Kevlar and plasteel. Damage resistant materials. Lightweight too. Miles better than steel."

"I'll take it."

"Thought you might."

"Are we headed to Alagaësia then?"

"We are. Along with Kida here."

Formora half-heartedly glared at the Frame. "It might betray us."

"It can't. Kida's one of Scipio's last Frames. Not the Submind's, Scipio's."

"What use will it be in any case?"

Ikharos crossed his arms. "You've seen what Frames are capable of. Do you really need to ask that question?"

She scowled. "I don't trust it."

"Then trust me. This is my judgement. If it doesn't work out, you get to say 'I told you so.'"

Formora looked back at him very quickly, fixing him with an indecipherable gaze. An uncomfortable silence passed before she said, "So be it."

He felt like he'd said something wrong. Ikharos suddenly wasn't sure what to make of... well, whatever _they_ were. They weren't enemies. He was adamant about that. They spoke civilly to one another, they worked together, but he still didn't truly understand Formora.

He sighed and turned to Kida. "We have a ship above, up with the dolphins. Can you swim?"

"I have emergency buoyancy devices for such occasions. I will float up," the Frame told him.

* * *

Sailing back to Alagaësia was a far more arduous undertaking than traveling to the Grey City. The weather worked against them. Waves tossed them about, wild winds snatched at their sails and tugged them around, and Ikharos even had to ward away lightning from a sudden storm that threatened to rip their ship apart and exile their remains to the depths of the sea. Kida was an invaluable help in that time, taking the oars and tirelessly paddling them onwards. The assistance of the dolphins was crucial. A pod - led by the hybrid - guided them safely through the perils of the ocean.

Unfortunately, they came to a point where the dolphins had to leave, as their feeding grounds were back to the west of Vroengard. Ikharos and Xiān thanked them profusely. They watched in silence as the dolphins chirped their last farewells and swam off with incredible speed, diving back into their watery world.

The going got tougher after that. Ikharos decided that while sailing was fun, he wasn't going to make a habit out of it. In fact, he would be happy to have his feet on solid ground for the foreseeable future. Constantly stumbling about as the vessel tackled yet another series of churning waves was unbecoming of a Guardian.

A Nïdhwal once surfaced nearby and looked them over with a massive reptilian eye, but it was smarter than the others Ikharos had previously encountered and decided they were too much trouble. The great predator sank beneath the broiling waters and left the ship be. The sighting caused Formora and Ikharos no end of stress, and they commonly glanced at their surroundings to ensure that the beast hadn't returned, even days later.

After one miserable night where the rain had consistently pummeled them, Ikharos said aloud, "I wish we could have just flown this."

"The journey is much easier on dragonback," Formora agreed. Sort of. It hadn't been exactly what he meant, but it amounted to the same thing.

A sudden curiosity struck him. "What was your... dragon's name?" He asked. Ikharos didn't trust the whole tamed-dragons idea, but Formora had made her own stance clear. His only real aim was to strike up a pleasant conversation.

Formora scowled. "It was torn from her."

And there went the pleasant conversation. Ikharos cursed under his breath. "Ah... torn?"

"Removed. Through magic."

Ikharos was perplexed to say the least. "Why not just get a new name?"

Formora glared at him. "Not given name. _True name._ "

"And... what's a true name?"

"A collection of words in the ancient language that surmise a beings entire existence."

"That's..." Ikharos trailed off. He had been about to say it was impossible, but the ancient language was a malleable thing. He had only begun to discover the possibilities it offered. "A true name is all that defines someone as who they are?"

"It is."

"And if taken away..."

Formora breathed raggedly. "They called it _Du Namar Aurboda._ The Banishing of Names. The dragons realized that thirteen of their own - those of the Forsworn - betrayed their kind in helping Galbatorix hunting their own kin. They gathered their magic as one and stripped all the being and individuality of the thirteen. They had not the capacity to describe themselves. They were turned into beasts. Less than beasts. Just... things."

"I'm... sorry for asking." He said hesitantly, and didn't press any further.

Formora brushed his condolences aside. "It was a long time ago. Go on, ask your questions. You have humoured mine for long enough already."

"Right... How does one find their true name?"

"Study, self-realization, looking back upon the past. It is no simple matter, and the methods for each person differ."

"Do you know your true name?"

She gave a quick, mirthless laugh. "That is not a question you should ask _anyone._ But yes, I do. I forced myself to change it some time ago to escape Galbatorix's control. It was not an easy matter to come to terms with what I am. Everyone is always disappointed when they learn who they truly are."

"I'd bet," Ikharos muttered. He didn't have a large enough vocabulary in the ancient language to attempt it yet. Perhaps in time. Or perhaps not. He didn't know if he even wanted to. "Is there any use in knowing one's true name?"

"Coming to terms with who you are. Beyond that, not much, save for protecting it from the grasp of others."

Ikharos frowned. "If people know your true name-"

"-then they can control your every action if they so wish," Formora finished. She stood and unfurled the sails; the wind was at their backs.

"So that's how Galbatorix..."

"It is."

Ikharos didn't know what to say next. He was hopeless in delicate situations like this. Thankfully, his Ghost swooped in to save his hide.

Xiān appeared and began to quietly play soothing pre-Golden Age music, humming along to the gentle tune. Kida glanced at the drone, then returned to his perch by the front of the ship with his rifle in hand, watching for Nïdhwal.

Formora perked up and listened in closely. Finally, she asked, "What is that?"

"Dunno," Xiān gave her best impression of a shrug. "Found it in an abandoned ruin back on Earth. You never know what you might find in those places. You like it?"

Ikharos smiled and idly listened in as they began to discuss music, listing and comparing the types of songs they enjoyed.

* * *

They made landfall soon after. Formora identified the landscape as the northern reaches of Alagaësia. Ikharos figured they weren't far from where his Galliot had crashed.

They left the ship at the beach for anyone to find. Now that they had arrived, they hadn't any need of it. They delved into a copse by the shore and made camp. Ikharos readied a meal using the preserved goods supplied by the Warmind and provided a small meal of rice with a spicy paprika sauce and slices of chicken.

Formora turned it away immediately. "I cannot eat that."

Ikharos rolled his eyes. "It's fine. Look." He ate a forkful. It didn't taste near as great as the fresh kind, but for something preserved for thousands of years, it was remarkably bearable.

The elf wasn't impressed. "I won't eat meat."

"You're vegan?" He asked, curious.

"Vegan?"

"Won't eat animal produce."

Formora nodded. "Then yes, I am."

"Well, you could have told me beforehand."

"I didn't know what you were making."

"Food." He sighed. "It's up to yourself. But, uh, why?"

"Because I can't eat something when I know how it thought. How it felt."

"I'm missing something here. Why would you know how it thought?"

Formora looked surprised. "By exploring their minds with my own, of course."

Ikharos stared, then groaned. "This is stupid. All this power… Who monitors it all?"

"No one."

"That's stupid. Anyone with a hint of magic could cause serious damage to countless others and there wouldn't be anything people without magic could do!" He shoved a forkful into his mouth as angrily as he could, which was admittedly not very angry at all.

"That's what I thought. It's why I wanted change in the Order," Formora said bitterly. "Most Riders flaunted their power and had what they wanted. The elders just stood aside and did nothing, comfortable in their lax lives of inaction. It was flawed at the core. We had the chance to change the world for the better and the Riders squandered it. I regret a lot of things, but some of them deserved what they got."

Ikharos leaned back against a tree and decided to enjoy his meal. It looked like he'd be the only one. "Have you anything else?" He asked tiredly.

Formora wordlessly reached into her packs and withdrew a handful of seeds. She scooped out a clump of earth and deposited the seeds inside, then covered it over again. Ikharos watched with detached amusement. "That's going to take some time," he noted.

She ignored him and began singing. It was slow-paced and little more than a whisper at first, but her voice steadily grew in volume so that it echoed far enough that Kida - who had been assigned to watch duty - even turned about to regard the elf curiously. Ikharos couldn't help but admit it sounded hauntingly beautiful. He recognized only the occasional word or phrase from the ancient language, but it served to increase his attentiveness.

Soon little shoots sprouted from the soil, unfurling and growing faster than plants had any right to. Within mere minutes, little bushes heavy with an assortment of ripe berries had formed. Formora stopped singing and began picking handfuls. Ikharos was sad to hear the enchanting music end.

"What was that?" He asked softly. He distantly felt Xiān land between his neck and shoulder, perched comfortably like a tiny bird. Her shell exuded a soft familiar warmth that belied her plasteel shell.

"Singing," Formora deadpanned.

"I got that part. But how did you..." He pointed to the bushes.

"I used the ancient language to cast a spell. It's no different than any other spell, but it's a practice my people keep alive."

"It was nice," Ikharos commented.

"Thank you."

They ate in silence. When supper was finished, Ikharos used the Void to clean the pots and utensils. Formora raised a subject he hadn't truly considered.

"Where do we begin?"

Ah yes. That. Ikharos let go of the ravenous unrealities that picked apart every speck of food from the pot he held and looked up, trying to pick out the stars from the Warsats. "I'm not sure. Last time I just roamed about until I could pick up on the Darkness exuded by the Shade, but it took too much time for my liking. It would be easier if we had a jumpship... again, I'm not sure. I want to kill the Shade for certain this time around, and quickly, before it razes another city."

"He razed a city?"

"Kuasta."

"Most certainly Durza, in that case," Formora told him. "Kuasta was never sympathetic to Galbatorix's empire."

"The Shade marched in with an army of Urgals. They killed almost everyone."

"Urgals?" Formora asked.

"Yes," Ikharos confirmed.

"Why would the king... More slaves to his will, I suppose. I doubt he intends anything other than sending them to die against his enemies." She nodded to herself. "This might be to our advantage. They would be easier to track."

"The Shade made it difficult. He was smart. Split up his army when everyone in Kuasta was killed. The king must not want it to be common knowledge."

"Of course not. Urgals are considered by humans and dwarves to be the most vile of all creatures. It would spread further dissent. But you're right, Durza's too sly and Alagaësia too vast. We might not find them for years."

"I don't like that. We could just nip the issue in the bud and go for Galbatorix. It would bring the Shade running to us. Or down to ground, don't know which."

"No," Formora shook her head. "Galbatorix is too powerful, even for you. You are more than his match physically, but he has traps laid all around him. Devoted servants ready to die for him. A massive army awaiting his command. Countless Eldunarí twisted to his will, to supply him with power and knowledge. He might not destroy you, but he would certainly cripple you long enough to take control of your mind. Even your defenses cannot guard against the combined mental power of a hundred dragons, all under the king's control."

"Maybe I can pick him off at range," Ikharos ventured. The idea of fighting a hundred Ahamkara - or whatever they were - at once did not appeal to him.

"He has a fortress with innumerable walls and wards. It is too well protected."

"So you're saying we _can't_ kill Galbatorix?" The Warlock crossed his arms. "Then I won't be able to strike at the Darkness here."

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying that we need power to challenge him. We need to pick away at his supports, leave him stranded and isolated. _Then_ we can work on defeating him. I want him dead more than anything else, but I know it would be foolish to march straight into his castle ill-prepared."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Allies would be helpful, though I don't foresee anyone rising up to fight the empire. The kingdom of Surda only seeks to avoid Galbatorix's attention. The elves and dwarves have hidden themselves away. The Urgals are under the king's thrall. There is no one."

"What about the Varden?" Ikharos asked. He remembered Tellesa and Rendan speaking of the movement. It hadn't been solely confined to Kuasta's region, according to them.

"Disorganized, too few in number, and without the leadership bold enough to openly challenge the king," Formora argued.

"Are you sure about that? The rebels in Kuasta achieved a lot when I was with them."

"And how did that work out for them?"

"It was my fault. I hadn't anticipated the presence of anything even resembling a Shade. Or such a quick response to the rebellion. I won't make that mistake again," he promised.

Formora exhaled. "They won't just accept you or your methods. A foreign mage is not someone they would immediately trust, nor would they change their entire approach to rebellion based on your suggestions."

"I can be convincing."

"No you can't," Xiān criticized.

Ikharos scowled. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I'm supposed to keep you from making mistakes. You don't have charm. Trust me on that."

He sighed. "So where does that leave us?"

"We need to focus on Durza," Formora told him. "He's the king's most powerful servant, with the rest of the Forsworn dead. Cut him away and Galbatorix will be nervous. He won't have a Shade under his command. And, if it becomes common knowledge, it might spur on others."

"So kill a Shade and become an inspiration. Got it. Still one big problem: how are we supposed to find the bastard?" Ikharos sat up straight. "Do you know of any places he visits on a regular to semi-regular basis?"

"No." Formora shook her head. "I kept away from Durza."

"Psekisk. Then we're supposed to hope he's still in the field?"

"I doubt he would go beyond the empire's borders."

"Still a large area to cover. And dangerous too. Empire knows a little about me. They'll be on the lookout."

"They most certainly know who I am," Formora smiled. "Though I think you and I can manage to evade capture easily enough."

He'd give her that. "I'm not happy with this. But it looks like all we have. I'd rather have a more certain plan."

Formora asked, "When you encountered Durza, where did you fight him?"

"Kuasta. But I, with a couple of survivors of the slaughter, tracked him near Ceunon. It was a few months back." He nodded. "Oh, yeah. Trail might be cold, but a creature like that is bound to make an impression, even if he only met with soldiers."

"Agreed. We can start there." She looked him over. "Will you need a horse?"

"I don't think... What do you mean, 'you'?" Ikharos gave her a funny look. "What about you?"

"I'm an elf," she pointed out, as if that explained everything. When he still held a puzzled expression, she relented. "I have no need of a steed. I can run."

"Running's too slow for my liking. I've got a Sparrow..." He made a head count. "Which is useless. Too many of us."

"Sparrow?" Formora frowned. "What does a bird have to do with this?"

"Not a bird. A hoverbike. Sparrow. They're a means of transport across all terrain. Machines. Like a jumpship, but landlocked. Most of the time."

"Most of the time?"

Ikharos gave a wry grin. "Some situations call for unorthodox maneuvers. Pity we don't have more than one."

"How many can a Sparrow carry?"

"One. Two is pushing the limit. Three would result in a crash."

"Let's leave the Frame," Formora advised.

Ikharos glanced over to Kida, who was most certainly listening in, and found the Frame gazing across the wide meadows and fields. "I don't want to do that. We need the extra gun."

"I don't like having it near us."

"I know. But it's not about what we like. It's what we get. Our position in all this is terrible. Scipio is diminished; he doesn't have the capacity to fully support us. Our enemies are strong. And they're smart. We need every advantage we can get. I am thankful you're helping me, truly. You've had little reason to work with me, but you did it anyway and I appreciate that, but I still have to jump on this chance. I don't trust Scipio any more than you do, yet we need his help. Even if that help is a single Frame. We'll need every edge."

Formora grimaced. "There are two gods in this world. We have to align with one to defeat the other."

"You've nailed it on the head."

"Gods..." She shook her head. "This isn't how the world should work."

"I'm afraid it is. The universe is a scary place. Now more than ever."

A minute passed. Then Formora spoke up, saying, "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Are there gods on your world too?"

Ikharos nodded. "Yeah."

"And are they as heartless as the ones here?"

"That's a complex and dangerous question." Ikharos shrugged. "But to answer it, I don't know."

She looked at him sharply. "You don't know?"

"The Traveler is my patron. It's the only reason I'm alive. It came to humanity and gave us all we wanted. It's easy to see it as good. But it also led the other gods, those of the Hive and the Darkness proper, to crash against our borders."

"Do you believe it is good?"

"I believe in the gun in my hand," he drew the Lumina, "And the Ghost at my side. That's enough. The rest is subject to change and that's fine by me. It's easier that way."

Formora frowned. "You don't want to know whether your god is good?"

"I honestly don't care. I admire the Traveler, I'll say that, and I feel an attachment to it. But I'm a Guardian. I prioritize the safety of my people before that of a silent orb in the sky. And I don't trust the Traveler's intentions. I don't trust victory on its terms, if we ever do defeat the Darkness."

"You don't trust victory?"

Ikharos looked at Xiān. "We have so many questions when we first rise. We find so many more when we see our first aliens. Our first jumpship. Our first home. But no one has asked this: what happens when it's over? The Traveler will leave us, I know that, but what will happen to the Ghosts? To the Risen? I don't think I'll like that answer."

"Then why do you fight?"

"Because humanity is worth fighting for. If I die - a true death mind you - then I want this galaxy to be healthy and vibrant. Not the dead thing the Hive want. Not the end the Cabal Emperor lusts after. I want it to be alive. Is that too much to ask for? It might just be. The dream is always in danger. I don't think it'll ever happen."

"But you still fight."

"I've got to do something with all my lives. Why not help people?" He breathed deeply. "To answer your earlier question, no, we won't need horses. They'd tire before I would. I'm assuming the same for you?"

"You assume correctly. Our best chance lies in gathering information, either discreetly or brazenly."

"There's a village near here," Ikharos stated. "I'd like to pass through, see how they're doing. It's called Doramb, if I remember."

"Got it in one," Xiān muttered.

Ikharos ignored her. "They're fairly isolated, but news could have trickled in. We'd only have to make a short stop."

"I won't object," Formora replied.

"Then it's a plan."

**000**

It took the Risen some time to retrace his steps, but he caught on quickly. Formora wordlessly followed, silently relieved to be back on the mainland. The air was fresher, the plants more flushed with health, and the animals bore no signs of sickness that their relatives on Vroengard did. She was home.

It was only fitting that her first introduction to civilization in decades was a crater and a collection of ruins. She could smell the acrid scent of burnt stone and cold bitter smoke some time before she saw the remains of Doramb, but she didn't know what it meant. It wasn't like any other raid she ever encountered - or dealt out herself. The houses were torn apart into rubble, the wood had been burnt away, and the ground was littered with particles of purple crystal that felt like ash. Nothing living remained. Even the insects stayed away.

"What happened here?" She asked aloud. The level of destruction was unlike any other.

She saw Ikharos' fists tighten. "Monsters."

"This... this is Void," she realized. Her eyes darted back to the Risen. "Like yours."

"Do you really think I would do this?" He snapped, pointing to the carnage.

She distinctly recalled the terror posed by the Risen when he gave chase to her and Enduriel, and she almost said yes. His reaction, though, gave her pause. "If not you, then who?"

He paused, then said in a dark tone, "Something belonging to Nezarec." He knelt down and scooped up a handful of crystals. "This is the work of military-grade weaponry, not direct Light or Dark. My money's on the Submind's systems. It has all the hallmarks of an AI."

"And what would that be?"

"No survivors." The Risen's attention was torn away, and he ran to the crystalized foundations of a farmhouse. Formora heard him mutter terrible things under his breath

"What's wrong?" Formora questioned when she caught up. She noted that the Frame brought up the rear with its weapon drawn. Her hand drifted to the projectile weapon at her hip; she didn't trust it to not turn on them. It looked too similar to the constructs they destroyed in the colourless city.

"I knew the people here," Ikharos lamented in a sad, quiet voice. "I saved them from Urgals. And they still died."

She stood beside him and tried to picture it. "They lived longer because of you."

"The Urgals were sloppy. The village might have prevailed. Some of them could have lived to see another day. But with this... they didn't stand a chance."

Formora dipped her head. "There's nothing we can do here." _And nothing of use for us._

Ikharos took a long moment to pay his last respects. When he turned, his breath was slow and controlled. He'd mastered his fury, but hadn't banished it. She didn't envy the perpetrators of the raid; the Risen's ire was nothing to laugh at.

"Come," Formora told him softly. "Let us get as far from here as we can."

* * *

They traveled for days at a time in their eastward heading. They needed little rest and food in that time, going solely on water and the odd wild berries. They avoided visiting other villages after that, and circumvented any settlements in their way. The destruction at Doramb had been a jarring experience. Neither had the energy to smile and disguise themselves as travelers just passing through. Perhaps they would at Ceunon, but not before.

Ikharos was just as at ease with traveling in the wilds as she was. It was unnerving that one who could exhibit such a violent nature in times of conflict could be so peaceful when wandering through the untamed forests of the Spine. It went to show how complex the world truly was; what laid on the surface was usually in no way related to that lurking beneath.

Ikharos was a warrior whose equals were few to none, but she hadn't had many occasions to connect with the scholar resting behind the armour. When provoked into conversation, Ikharos revealed himself to be highly insightful in a wide range of matters. On a number of occasions she found herself drawn into conversations on culture, philosophy, and literature, and learned she relished those occurrences.

That said, a muted despondency overcame the Risen after they left Doramb behind. He talked little in the time that passed, though Formora figured he still regularly communicated with his spirit, Xiān. Their relationship was a strange one. They understood one another without even speaking, which led her to believe they had a mental connection with which they could freely share messages, thoughts, and feelings. Not dissimilar to the bond between Rider and dragon.

She wished she had it still. A ragged wound, badly healed, had been left in her mind when her dragon had been ripped away - twice. Once when her personality was destroyed, once when the pitiful beast that remained had perished. Formora doubted she would ever get past that. She had long since decided to visit that pain unto Galbatorix tenfold.

The fourth member of their party, the Frame named Kida, was just as silent as the Risen. It moved and worked like a person, but each movement was hollow. When it spoke, it sounded like a husk of a being, with only the barest hints of individuality. It was a monster in her eyes.

Their group marched on in near-quiet for a while. They'd left the Spine behind at some point and now traveled along the North Sea. Ceunon lay not far ahead, only a day or so more at their pace. It had been a simple uneventful day like any other when Xiān spoke up with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "I hear something!"

Formora looked about and strained her hearing, but she couldn't discern anything other than the chirps of birds or the creak of swaying trees. The spirit was a sharp little thing, but Formora didn't think that Xiān's sense of hearing could match that of an elf.

It soon became clear that hearing wasn't what the spirit - the _Ghost_ \- meant.

"What is it?" Ikharos asked, his tone hushed.

"Tachyon-particle communicator. Encrypted. Looks like..." Xiān trailed off.

"Like what?"

"Like a Cabal Battlenet."

Formora didn't know what it meant, but it had a significant impact on her companion.

"Psekisk!" Ikharos swore explosively. Formora distantly wondered what the foreign word meant. "How?!"

"I don't know!"

"Are you sure it's them?"

"It's the exact same as those used by the Sand Eaters and Skyburners."

"If the Cabal are here, then... wait." The Risen twirled around to face Kida. "Is Scipio still up?"

"Affirmative." The Frame nodded.

"So they haven't destroyed him..." Ikharos looked up into the open sky. "They could have a fleet up there, readying for an invasion. And there wouldn't be anything we could do. Kida, can you speak with Scipio?"

"Affirmative."

"He needs to strike them down before they can land."

"Negative."

Ikharos twirled around. "What?!"

"Negative. There is no fleet."

"Then how are we picking up on their comms?" He demanded.

Kida didn't move an inch. "Two vessels bearing occupants of unknown extrasolar species - hypothesized to be frigate-class warships - were disabled in orbit. Vessels plummeted into gravity well of Kepler-186f. Organisms on board vessels exercised means of survival. AI Command Scipio disallows communications beyond Kepler-186f."

"Two vessels? What does it mean?" Formora asked.

Ikharos seethed. "He means that Scipio brought down other ships, and just like me, they fell. It looks like some survived."

"And these are... Cabal?"

"I've told you about their empire, right? The Cabal have one of the toughest militaries around. They're good at war. They might have arrived intending on annexing this planet." Ikharos turned to Xiān. "Can you crack the encryption?"

"No. I'll need to hack into their Battlenet proper. We'd need a comms unit. Even a field radio would work."

The Risen inclined his head. "We might be able to do it. Can you trace the signal?"

"Yes. Just give me a few... Got it."

"Which way?"

"East..." Xiān mumbled. She spoke up, saying, "Yeah, east. Near Ceunon. There's a lot of activity that way."

Ikharos crouched and began checking that his weapons were loaded. "Why didn't he tell us?!" He angrily muttered. "He brought them down and conveniently forgot to inform us? Kida, why didn't he tell us?"

"Irrelevant to mission," the Frame answered bluntly.

"Irrele-" An edge of panic bled into his words. "It's not irrelevant! The Cabal are never irrelevant! They're a war machine! With the right numbers, they'll take over this continent, and then the entire world!"

Formora knelt beside him. "Are they truly that dangerous?"

The Risen shook his head. "Cabal are nothing if not dangerous. Smart, when they want to be. Bigger and stronger and far more advanced than anything already here."

"Can there be that many of them?" Formora asked, mind whirling. Conquer all of Alagaësia? She'd have called it impossible if it weren't Ikharos saying it. He spoke of things that couldn't ever be true, but she knew by now that it often was. The presence of two ruthless deities warring over the entire world was proof enough.

"Depends on whether Scipio brought down warships or carriers."

"What's the difference?"

"Carriers hold a lot more soldiers. And weapons. They're behemoths, utter juggernauts of battleships. Even at a fall like that... it might have survived."

"How large is it?"

"As large as Teirm's inner city."

Formora's breath caught in her throat. "Nothing that size can fly."

"If we're lucky, it won't fly anymore," Ikharos grunted. "We need to reach them."

"And then what?"

"Evaluate the threat. Deal with it however we can. Right now, they're more dangerous than any Shade. They'll rip through whatever resistance the locals put up."

They sounded like monsters. "Why are they so dangerous?"

Ikharos tapped his Lumina. "They have weapons like this. Only bigger."

A host armed with those weapons would be unstoppable. Not even the elves could defeat them. "How can we fight that?"

"We'll find a way. Cabal always outnumbered my kind, but we routed them again and again. They're overconfident. We can use that against them. First we need one of their radios."

"And then I have to play with the Psions," Xiān added. "Not looking forward to that."

Neither was Formora. "Do we have to fight them? Can't we negotiate?"

"Cabal aren't the type to talk. They aren't even the type to hit things first and ask questions later. They'll hit first, yes, and then hit some more. Again and again until everything else is either dead or in chains. They're conquerors, the lot of them."

* * *

They ran fast and without rest for many leagues. Ikharos easily kept pace, and the Frame was never far behind. Formora was struck by the idea that her people would be just as formidable if they tossed aside their pretentious ways. They hid in forests when they could be using their gifts to fix the problems of the flawed world. They were just as bad as the Riders - guilty by inaction. And now, with Galbatorix threatening them if they so much as took a single step outside Du Weldenvarden, they had an excuse to be cowards.

Formora made sure to learn as much about this new foe as she could before reaching them, and each revelation increased her doubts that victory would be possible, even with an army at her back.

"The Cabal have one tactic: advance," Ikharos explained. "They've operated solely on that so many times that they've devised ways to vary how it works. If they aren't advancing, they're sitting in their bunkers and weathering whatever assault the enemy throws at them. In the field they're the most powerful force you'd ever encounter, but they fail to conform to unconventional warfare. Guerilla tactics - which Guardians use - works wonders against their formations."

"So my people stand a chance against them?"

"Not in the slightest. Cabal have communication systems using tachyon particles as a transmission medium. It allows them to relay information over large distances in an instant. Different Cabal groups will cooperate and confront whatever foe they face. They're linked by a Battlenet, operated by Psions, which means that their strategies can change on a whim. They don't need to stick to a predetermined plan - their orders can and will change based on the calculations of proven strategists in heavily-protected strongholds. Their soldiers have sensors in their helmets which feed them thermal and night vision images. They'd pick out an elf at once and shoot them down. If that wasn't enough, their Psions are masters of paracausality. The Flayers - the most powerful of the Psions - throw their minds about like hammers. Little escapes their attention."

Formora frowned. "Then how do we get past them? Open battle?"

"Goodness no. They're formidable in a fight. Your armour and mine are adapted to avoiding attention. The plasteel masks our body heat and the jamming devices worked into the plating frazzle automatic targeting systems. If you want to slip past them, be quiet and quick. We don't have cloaking devices, only the Void." He stopped. "If we get separated, do what you can to escape detection. Cabal can be fooled. Watch for Psions; they're smaller - our height - and have a single eye. Whatever you do, don't engage their minds. They're too powerful. It might be best if you stayed back. The Cabal aren't like anything you've faced."

"You'll go alone?"

"I've done this before, I can do it ag-"

Something big flew over them, roaring like a dragon. The force of it sweeping above bent the trees at extreme angles.

"Down!" Ikharos hissed. Formora and Kida rushed to comply. A minute passed. Then he said, "That was a Harvester."

"Harvester?" Formora asked. "What is it, some kind of hunting beast?"

"No. Starship. They ferry troops." Ikharos drew and unfolded his bow. "Is Ceunon close by?"

"I think so."

Ikharos glanced at her. "I'll scout ahead. Double back with Kida and find a place to hide. I won't be long."

* * *

She trekked through the forest looking over her back, but they hadn't been followed. Kida was noiseless, save for the soft whisper as his metal legs brushed against the undergrowth. They heard and saw nothing else that might have signified Cabal or Ikharos.

Eventually, Formora found a large, ancient, worn rock covered in moss with a hollow sizable enough for five men. The surrounding trees covered it well, and it was obscured from whatever roamed the skies. The Harvester had been an alarming revelation. She knew from experience how powerful control of the air was. It had been that which helped the Riders exude such a strong presence across all of Alagaësia. If the Cabal possessed even a fraction of their strength, they posed a great threat indeed.

To pass the time, she drew Vaeta and polished the oak-coloured blade with a clean rag. The metal glinted even in the low light of dusk. Formora wondered how Rhunön fared. Did she still forge blades out of brightsteel? Or had she turned her focus to other habits, now that her past clients were dead and gone?

Kida settled by the entrance with his rifle in hand. He never didn't have it at the ready. It picked at her nerves, having a Frame so close. She'd seen what they were capable of. Formora doubted she would ever forget the sight of hundreds of screaming metal constructs shambling and crawling towards her, clearly intent on tearing her apart. No matter how many she'd killed, they weren't deterred in the slightest.

She finally snapped after hours of waiting. Her patience could only hold out so long. "Why don't you talk?"

Kida's featureless head swiveled to stare at her. "I do," he said at length.

"No, you don't. You only ever speak when spoken to."

"There is no need for me to speak. I am a machine."

Formora set her jaw. She moved onto a more worrying topic. "Why didn't you tell us about the Cabal?"

"It is irrelevant."

"I thought Scipio wanted to protect people?"

"AI Command Scipio's highest priority is to ensure humanity's survival."

"Are the Cabal not a threat to that?" Formora pointed out.

Kida didn't speak for a few seconds. "Irrelevant."

"How are they irrelevant?"

"Cabal do not threaten humanity's survival."

"If they're here to conquer, then they very much-"

"Objection: significant loss of human life does not equate to extinction of human species."

"Wh... what do you mean?" Formora pressed. She stopped polishing and stared right back at that dead crystal eye.

Kida's head tilted - such a living gesture. It made her nervous. "Loss of significant human life falls within acceptable parameters, as the human species is not threatened with extinction. AI Command Scipio places survival of human species above all else. Every action furthers that end."

A cold sweat broke out across her brow. "That's not... that's not right! You should be helping-"

The waning light pouring in through the entrance was suddenly blotted by the arrival of a humanoid figure. Formora half rose, ready to take the fight to the intruder, but it was only Ikharos who stepped inside. He held Orúm in one hand, the sword dark with what she assumed to be blood, and what appeared to be a massive helmet in the other.

"Welcome back, sir." Kida saluted. Ikharos dipped his head and strode in, dropping the helmet in the centre of the floor. It appeared to be of a blood-red and forest-green colouring over sturdy metal plating. Ikharos' own helm was removed by his Ghost in a small flash of light.

"How did you find us?" Formora asked.

Ikharos gave her an amused look. "I've tracked Devils through the catacombs of Paris. You're significantly easier to find."

"Should we move?" She asked, worried.

"No. Cabal are smart, but they aren't natural born hunters. They're herd animals, if anything. They won't pick up on our scent for some time."

"What about..." She pointed to the helmet. It was hard to imagine anything big enough to fit in it. Even the tallest of Kull wouldn't comfortably wear it, their horns notwithstanding.

Ikharos shrugged. "They'll discover that later. Xiān had to trick the Battlenet into thinking he's still on patrol, rather than dead in a ditch." He crouched down beside it. "This is our ticket into their encrypted messages."

"Are the Cabal near Ceunon?"

"They're _in_ Ceunon. Seems they've taken the city. Saw a bunch of movement inside - looks like they haven't started killing civilians just yet. Ships are moving between the city and across the fjord."

"Why?"

"I'm assuming it's where their ship crashed. Lotta salvage. Good equipment. And the fuel tanks would bethere, still full of black gel."

"Black gel?"

"An oil. It's as valuable as Glimmer to them. Used to fuel their machines, heal their wounds, and power their pressurized armour."

"Why would their armour be pressurized?"

"Cabal will go anywhere to conquer. They can breathe our air and survive our worlds, but they're just as likely to visit the most inhospitable places in the galaxy. Scorching deserts or frozen rocks, they're prepared for it all." He kicked the helmet. "This was a Legionary. Average-sized Uluru, rank-and-file soldier. I don't recognize the colours. It's a different legion than the kinds I'm used to. Older armour too. Not Red Legion, that's for sure."

"You've been fighting them a long time," Formora stated. It wasn't a question.

"I have. Looks like I will again."

"Were there many?"

"Not an entire legion's worth. Maybe a cohort or two?"

"How many would that be?"

"Two to three thousand. More or less, but it's hard to tell."

As an army, it was not the largest in Alagaësia, but outfitted with guns and flying ships... "That's too many."

"Agreed."

"Do you have a plan?"

"I'm working on..." Ikharos held up a finger for silence. He half-turned to face the entrance. Formora strained her ears. Yes, she could hear something. An odd crackling... and careful footfalls from somewhere nearby.

The Risen brought the finger to his lips and moved to the entrance. Before he even left, he disappeared from sight. It appeared as if the shadows had moved to obscure him from view. She didn't see any further sign of Ikharos. Mere moments later she heard a surprised inhuman yelp, a strangled bark, the screech of metal against metal, and finally silence. Formora brought out her own gun - the smaller sidearm - alongside her sword and crept forward.

"Come out," Ikharos called out calmly. "I've got it."

She and Kida rushed out of the hollow with weapons primed, but they found Ikharos safe and unharmed. He had a boot placed on the chest of an armoured creature - the likes of which she'd never seen before. It hissed and would have likely fought back if not for the sword tip held against its throat.

It wore complex armour and an object resembling a rifle rested not far from where it laid. It possessed four long arms, each ending in claws, and two powerful legs. Four glowing blue eyes glared up at Ikharos through its strange helmet, motionless for fear of its life. It was large enough that if it stood, it would be taller than her and Ikharos by a head. She'd never even heard of a creature like this - save for the odd mention from Ikharos. It's form flickered from solid to invisible and back again.

" _Psesiskar!_ " It grunted in a deep gravelly voice, accentuated by a series of muffled clicks.

Ikharos huffed and replied in the same language, albeit without the indecipherable animalistic sounds. " _Shes ta drekh._ "

Though Formora didn't understand his words, it had a visible effect on his captive. " _Ta do liksni?_ " It gasped.

" _Eia. Da yus?_ "

" _Nama, da yus?!_ " The creature growled.

" _Sri, sri, Uluru_ _._ " Ikharos glanced pointedly at Orúm. " _Ne sava. Da yus?_ "

" _..._ _Moliko!_ " The creature closed its inner pair of eyes.

Ikharos spoke up in common, assumedly for Formora's sake. "His name is Moliko."

"I've never..." Formora began.

"He's Fallen." Ikharos spat out the word. He didn't hold much love for Moliko's people, that much was clear. "Don't know which House yet. I'm willing to bet they followed the Cabal here. And he followed me. I didn't think to find any of their kind here. I wonder where his..." Ikharos looked up, past Formora. "Ah, psekisk. He wasn't alone."

She slowly turned about. Another two of the creatures had crawled over the rock with guns of their own raised in her direction. Formora's heart hammered in her chest. Motion on the edge of her vision caught her attention, and she spotted another three emerging from the surrounding forest.

A growl from behind made her turn around, and she spotted an even larger specimen march up and raise a gun like the Lumina - though one of bronzed metal and less sleek design - against the back of Ikharos' head. " _Ra fre. Hu dir,_ " it ordered. Ikharos stepped back from his captive and tossed Orúm onto the grass. His former captive surged to its feet.

"What do we do?" Formora demanded. She had a fair idea what would happen if the new creatures opened fire.

"Drop your weapons. Slowly," Ikharos ordered. "Kida, don't be stupid."

"Sir?" The Frame's eye darted between targets.

"They've got wire rifles trained on us. If they shoot, only one of us is going to walk out of this. Trust me on this. We're not going to fight this."

"Negative."

"You and Formora won't get out of this alive, so let's-"

"Irrelevant."

"Shut up and do as I say!"

"Negative." Kida raised the rifle. "Analysis: Unknown extrasolar lifeforms detrimental to THREAT: DUSKRISE. Procedure: Must-"

A lance of lightning tore through the Frame's head. The whining body stuttered and fell, sparks shooting from the slagged neck joint. Instant silence fell over the small clearing. The shooter and bearer of the devastating weapon switched its attention to herself and the Risen.

Ikharos looked at her. "Formora. Don't."

"Are they with the Cabal?" She whispered. The too many weapons were aimed in her direction and there wasn't any form of cover within easy reach. Her carefully maintained wards were useless against such weapons. Her armour wouldn't hold up either if Kida's prone form was any indication.

"No. I can talk with them, just... just trust me, okay?"

She lowered her arms and, reluctantly, let go of her weapons. The Eliksni surged forwards and collected them, never moving their eyes from their new captives.

The big one - wearing a helmet with a wide fan shaped crest rising horizontally from the back of its head - forced Ikharos to turn around. " _Ta do liksni._ "

" _Eia_ _,_ " the Risen replied in a careful tone.

" _Kri?_ "

" _Nama dir._ "

"Hah!" The big Eliksni barked out a laugh. " _Eia, nama dir. Ne zes sha._ "

" _Ne... Sha'ge._ "

The big creature narrowed all of its eyes. " _Sha'ge?_ "

" _Eia, Sha'ge-_ "

" _Nama, Sha'ir._ "

"Oh crap."

" _Mraskilaasan-veskirisk kana. Nama-Hulunkles._ " It waved with a free hand to the others. " _Kle-nan! Irso da!_ "

One of the creatures approached her and grasped her wrists; she had to resist the urge to smash it apart with a spell. The moment she fought back, the others would open fire. At least in the city they'd heard the Frames coming.

The creature forcibly tore the shield from her bracer using inhuman strength and, with a strand of metallic rope, tied her hands together. It jerked its head forward. " _Da!_ "

She started walking in the direction it indicated. Two of its fellows picked up Kida's corpse between them and followed the rest of the armed group.

**000**

Ikharos remained silent throughout the entire march to the Eliksni camp, carefully studying his captors. The red they wore initially led him to believe they were Devils, but the glittering gold sigils and the fact that they hadn't immediately murdered him shot down that theory. Which was fortunate for them. If they had been Devils, then he wouldn't have let them live longer than a minute, and damned be the consequences.

Even so, they didn't bear the banner of any House he recognized. Their armour was in great condition, far better than the salvaged relics House Dusk handed out to all its members. They carried trophies attached to their weapons, pauldrons, and helmets in the forms of bones or Cabal dogtags. The Captain wore a cloak made of Cabal warbeast scales, golden stripes painted across the red to signify her loyalty. She set a hard pace and snapped at any who fell behind. She seemed used to command - not a recent promotion, that was obvious. Their ranks had a stability which made them even more dangerous.

The Captain had taken his Lumina and gawked at it over the course of the forced march. Just when they arrived at the entrance of a cave set into a jutting rocky mound, she turned to him and asked, "Did you forge this?"

"With some help," Ikharos replied in low Eliksni. He couldn't imitate the barks or the clicking, but he managed to get his meaning across.

Her inner eyes narrowed, signifying displeasure or suspicion. Likely the latter. "You are armed. Your people are not."

"I've arrived only somewhat recently. The same as you, I suspect."

"Where are you from?"

"Earth." He saw no reason to lie. If they wanted to find humanity's homeworld, it would be an easy thing to do. By now the entire Cabal Empire must have known about it. Besides, what would be the harm? They'd only get ripped apart the moment they arrived in the war torn territories of Sol.

"I wonder if you are being truthful with me, Light-Thief."

"I haven't stolen anything. Especially not the Light. It was given to me."

The Captain snorted. "We'll see."

* * *

They were shoved to the back of the cave with four Vandals and a single Marauder - Moliko - to guard them. It became increasingly clear that they weren't related to the Houses stationed at Earth. They made no move to draw out Xiān, unaware of the chaos posed by the small machine. He doubted they even knew what a Ghost was.

His hands were cuffed and two of the Eliksni had rifles primed to fire resting loosely in their hands. Ikharos was sure that was a mistake. Fallen weren't known for their otherworldly powers, whereas both their prisoners were creatures of paracausal design. He and Formora didn't strictly need weapons to kill.

"What happens now?" His companion mumbled.

Ikharos glanced at her. They were unharmed, which was more than he could ask for. His Light wasn't far away either. If push came to shove, he could teleport them out with an altered Nova Warp. But the ensuing explosion of noise would be sure to draw the attention of the Cabal. They were poor trackers, but give them a whiff of prey and they'd doggedly run it down. "I don't know. I suppose we wait."

"You speak their language?"

"I do. I've had ample experience with their people."

"Can you fight them?"

"I can, but one should never rush with Fallen. They're too smart, and dangerous besides."

"Why did you surrender?" Formora asked him, while she glared at their captors. "I've seen what you could do. You could have killed them all."

"I would be the only one left alive. Firefights are quick and brutal affairs. Survival is never guaranteed. And I'm not a heartless bastard. There's bound to be an easier way out of this. One where we all survive."

"You could move us."

"And have an entire Cabal cohort snapping at our heels. If I use a Super, it won't be quiet. The Psions would pick up on the power surge and zone in on our location. We'd be in an arguably worse situation."

A brief pause followed. "Thank you," Formora said softly. She met his eyes. There wasn't a trace of the rage that so commonly followed their little talks.

They didn't have to stay there very long. The Captain returned and pointed to Ikharos. "You. Follow me," she ordered in Eliksni.

"I'm not moving until we get an assurance of safety."

"You don't have a choice."

"Do you want to test that?"

The Captain glared at him. Suddenly her outer eyes narrowed and she bellowed with heavy laughter. "You have fire, Light-Thief. I'll give you that. I will not visit undeserved pain unto you."

"Same for her," Ikharos jutted his head towards Formora.

The Captain waved him on impatiently. "Yes yes, no undeserved pain unto your friend. Now move."

"I need your word. In High Eliksni."

All four eyes narrowed. "You know much of mine-culture, Light-Thief," the Captain drawled. "How is that, I wonder?"

"I've known Judgement, Devils, Kings, Wolves and Winter," Ikharos replied evenly. "I've known of your people since the day I was given life. I _know_ your kind."

"Then you know that an oath in High Eliksni is not easily given."

"I guess we'll wait."

The Captain stepped closer, one of her hands drawing nearer to her sword. "I could make you."

"Try it," Ikharos dared. "See what happens."

Once more the Captain laughed. "I like you. You remind me of mine-brother, before he was crushed beneath a Centurion's heel." She switched to High Eliksni, speaking slowly to better pronounce the delicate words. "I swear no undeserved pain will be delivered unto either of you."

"That's better." Ikharos stood. "What do you want me for?"

"Knowledge. I have heard of you, Light-Thief." She grabbed his arm and led him away. More Fallen had arrived at the cave, from Dregs to Splicers, and they all watched him like hawks. The Captain stopped by another chamber, this one far larger. A holotable rested in the middle with a hologram of a city displayed in orange light. Ceunon. Little Harvester and Thresher models flew overhead. The Captain let him go and walked to the far end of the table. Two Vandals armed with Arc spears flanked her. "Mine-Baron has put out a price on your capture."

Ikharos frowned. The metal wire around his wrists irritated him. Breaking them open would be easy, but he didn't want to do it just yet. "You said a Wolf told you about me. Which is impossible. I couldn't have been tracked here through a long-range warp, I ensured that. And the Wolves are gone."

"Wolf of the past, Scar of the present."

"A deserter?"

"Watch your tone!" The Captain bellowed angrily. She calmed quickly. "Merely a lost warrior. He knows all about your kind. Said you are strong. Said that you are no friend to Eliksni. And said that you are deathless." The Captain's eyes sparkled with interest. "Deathless like Hive. I want to know."

Before he could object, she drew a Arc pistol and shot him point blank. His shields held. Without a moment's hesitation the Captain emptied the rest of the gun's battery as he began to move, overloading his shield and sending a fatal burst of electricity coursing painfully through his body.

* * *

When Ikharos came back, he brought forth a protective aura of Solar about him, searing the very ground he stood upon. The Captain stared back, mildly impressed. Her guards backpedaled rapidly. Xiān was thankfully out of sight of the Eliksni. She was as much a veteran at this as he was.

"So it's true," the Captain remarked. "You are deathless."

He doused the flames and sent her an angry look. "You broke your word."

"I promised not to deliver undeserved pain." She said flippantly. "That was deserved. You threatened mine-brother's heir, Moliko. Our feud is no longer an issue now that the debt is paid."

Ikharos glowered. "He wasn't hurt."

"You don't look hurt either. It is in the past. Now we talk." She leaned forward. "I am Sundrass, Captain of the Scar banner."

Scars. Ikharos knew of them. What was it Variks said? _Cannot keep Wolves from Kings, Scar from Winter. Fell to fighting. Fell to hate._ "You went to war with House Winter."

The Captain perked up. "Hah, yes. They could weather a storm, but not the Scars! How fare those cowards?"

"Disbanded. Draksis is dead, along with every other Winter noble."

Sundrass clicked her fangs. "Draksis... Yes, I knew Draksis. Great warrior. Smart hunter. How did he perish?"

"I killed him."

All talk died away. He could feel Xiān mentally berating him. The Captain looked at him as if only seeing him for the first time. "You killed a Kell?"

" _Eia_ _._ " He half expected her to shoot him again.

She blinked her outer eyes. "Bah, it was only Winter. The cretins." She leaned back. "Name yourself, Light-Thief."

"Ikharos."

"Were you titled?"

" _Eia,_ by Devils. _Ikha Riis pak Psekiskar_ _._ "

Sundrass chuckled. "You are a good prisoner. You have entertained me."

Ikharos grew irritated. "Not what I'm here for. Is that bounty for a corpse?"

"Dead or alive, does not specify. Though I think it would always be alive for you."

"Are you calling it in?"

"Hmm..." The Captain scrutinized him. "Not now."

"Not now?"

"Tell me about the machine above us. The web."

 _The Warmind._ Ikharos shuffled uncomfortably. "It's an independent AI. It's acting on a defensive subroutine to contain something here."

"Contain what?"

Ikharos didn't reply.

Sundress growled. "You will not say? I will learn sooner or later, of this I am sure. You are fortunate that I have need of you elsewhere, or I would have already taken an arm. As you are deathless, the risk involved is little."

Ikharos felt for the veil of Void, the threads of Arc. He was ready to fight his way out if need be. "And what need is that?"

Sundrass waved towards the hologram of Ceunon. "See this? Cabal have claimed one of your cities."

"And you care about that?"

"No, of course not." All four of her eyes narrowed into a glare directed at the heart of the city. "I care about mine-crew. Mine-scouts. The Cabal have captured some of mine-Eliksni a number of rotations ago. I want them back, but the _psesiskars_ have locked everything up. Nothing can get in or out alive." She looked at him. "You can get in dead."

"You want me to rescue your scouts." Ikharos crossed his arms.

" _Eia_ _._ "

"In exchange for what?"

Sundrass closed her outer eyes. "You will be released. After that, I do not care what happens. Go back to traveling in the wilds, or fighting Cabal; it makes no difference to me."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then your friend will die," the Captain vowed. "I know she is not deathless. You would not have pestered me for a promise of safety if it were otherwise."

Ikharos simmered with sudden fury. "You made an oath."

"And it will be deserving." The Captain responded harshly. "The lives of my scouts are valuable to me. If you let them die, I will return the debt. What do you say to that, Light-Thief? Shall I call for Moliko to cut open her throat?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	25. Ceunon

"Escape plan?"

"Mine-Marauders will join you and infiltrate the city, but will only go so far. The Cabal will have set Arc-sensors within."

Ikharos nodded. "That sounds like them. How long have they been here?"

"Not long. Since the season turned."

"Barely even a month." He looked over the hologram once more. The archaic wood and stone walls bore damage from a recent assault. The five city gates were intact, though he suspected that was because the Cabal attacked from the air. Miniscule figures patrolled the perimeter of the city, easily identifiable by their heavy suits of armour. "Any idea where they keep their prisoners?"

"Nama. We suspect the keep," Sundrass pointed with a claw to the stone castle in the centre of the city, "But we cannot be sure. They have erected shielded bunkers throughout the city."

Ikharos studied the map closely. " _You getting this?_ " He asked Xiān.

She sent him reassuring pulse. " _Downloading it now. Do you think the Cabal will execute everyone inside? Like they did at home?_ "

" _Maybe. Let's hope not. I'm not sure how we could free a city on our lonesome._ " He shifted and asked aloud, "What's the situation with the civilians?"

Sundrass sent him an indecipherable look. "What about them?"

"Any plan to... never mind, you don't care." Ikharos scowled. He broached another topic. "I don't know the city. There could bunkers running underneath the earth for all I know. Or the Cabal could have shipped their prisoners off. They _do_ have another camp, right?"

"You are correct."

Ikharos shook his head. "This isn't enough. I need more information. I refuse to go in blind." A thought struck him. "Formora must know the city." He met Sundrass' eyes. "My friend. I'm pretty sure she's been here before."

"She is native to this world?"

" _Eia_ _._ "

"Treskis!" The Captain called out to one of her guards. The Vandal stood to attention. "Bring the other prisoner. And hold a blade to her neck!" When Ikharos gave a start, Sundrass settled him with a cold look. "I do not trust you not to try and trick me, Light-Thief. This mission is your chance for survival and freedom. Do not squander it, or you will be delivered to the Baron - alone."

The guard left. Ikharos' fists shook by his sides, but he didn't dare strike out. Sundrass wasn't like any of the Devils or Scorn, all of whom were prone to brash action. She was shrewd and ruthless, the most dangerous sort of Fallen, like those of House Kings. He was surprised she was only a Captain. Surely she could have killed her way up to the rank of Baron.

Formora walked in stiffly only moments later, Moliko by her side. His shock sword was activated, Arc crackling down the deadly sharp blade. The Marauder glared at Ikharos. " _Psekiskar!_ " He spat.

Ikharos ignored him and spoke directly to the elf in English. "Time is of the essence. They're willing to give us freedom if I do something for them."

"Do what, exactly?"

"Rescue friends of theirs from the Cabal. There's reason to believe those friends are being held in Ceunon. If there's anything you can tell me about the city, it would be a huge help. Where they would keep prisoners, hiding places, secret passages, that sort." He motioned to the model of Ceunon on the holotable.

Formora raised an eyebrow at the sight of the hologram of the city, but the surprise wore off quickly. They'd come across a lot of strange things in the past few weeks. She pointed to the keep. "This has a strategic value. It signifies the power of Ceunon. The noble family of Tarrant rules, or ruled, from there."

"Cabal won't care about symbols. Is there any place with large open rooms? Any subterranean chambers?"

"I don't..." Formora paused and frowned. "There _is_ the siege tunnel."

"Where?"

She pointed to a small building situated smack bang in the inner city, not far from the keep. "Here. It leads out north along the fjord around here." She pointed to a location miles outside the city. Both locations were automatically highlighted in blue.

"How large is it?"

"Barely enough to fit a human male walking upright. Not a large chamber, but it may be of some interest."

"Perfect," Ikharos nodded. He looked back to Sundrass and said in low Eliksni, "There's a siege tunnel running outside the city. That's our escape route. It's too narrow for Uluru."

Sundrass seemingly agreed. "I will have a cloaked Skiff waiting for you. If you do not bring me my kin or betray me, then your companion will die."

"I understand the consequences," Ikharos growled. "You've only said it five times now."

"Then you will not forget."

"There's another thing," Formora cut in. Though the Fallen couldn't understand her, they all still looked at her. She stoically ignored them. "I used to know someone who lived in the city. He might still be there, if these Cabal haven't killed everyone."

"What about him?"

"He's a werecat. His kind go unnoticed whenever trouble brews. They learn all sorts of secrets without even trying."

"I know werecats," Ikharos sighed. "How do I find him?"

"There's a bakery towards the east." Formora picked out an unextraordinary building. "Leave a trio of scratches in the brickwork, like claw marks. He'll find you before the hour is out."

Ikharos groaned. "I'll be dancing with Psions. I won't have an hour."

"He'll know where your prisoners are, that I promise you. Just... hide until then."

"Can I rely on him?"

"He's a friend." When Ikharos gave her a disbelieving look, Formora glared back. "Yes, I have a few of those. I'm not entirely without connections."

"I thought you..." He trailed off, noticing the dangerous expression on her face. "Nevermind."

"Thought I what?" Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"It's nothing," Ikharos backpedaled. He switched to Eliksni. "We may have an agent on the inside. I'll need my weapons and helmet back."

Sundrass barked to one of her underlings. The Dreg fetched Ikharos' seized belongings and handed them back with care. The Eliksni looked over each piece with appreciation - they respected advanced and well-crafted tech.

"Bring it away!" Sundrass ordered, pointing at Formora. Moliko pulled the elf out of the chamber and assumedly went back to where she and Ikharos had been kept earlier. The Captain turned to face the Warlock. "Are you prepared?"

"Don't have a choice, do I?" He asked bitterly.

"No."

* * *

The difficulty began before he even reached the city walls. Ceunon was surrounded by miles of farmland that used to feed the city. The open fields spelled trouble. Ikharos and the three accompanying Marauders set out near midday, as the night would only make the Cabal more alert. They cloaked themselves, through Void or Arc generator, and followed small beaten paths, avoiding the roads upon which Cabal patrols routinely marched. They sighted smaller humanlike figures working over the innermost farms under close watch, while the rest of the land was given over to pests and weeds.

The infiltrators remained totally silent, practically crawling along the trails and eyeing the walls nervously. Ikharos was not exempt from this. He led the way, keeping the veil of Void pulled tightly over him no matter how hard it tried to tug away. His Light didn't normally conform that way, especially for elongated periods of time. He was a Warlock, not a Hunter, though circumstances had forced him to reach out to unorthodox methods.

That said, his veil held and the Cabal were none the wiser. It had taken the infiltrators some time, but they eventually reached the bottom of the stone walls. The foundations had been set deep into the earth, and they bore the marks of a hundred different battles from centuries past. They were ancient, and Ikharos didn't doubt for a second that the city had been founded the moment humans arrived in the area, all those thousands of years ago.

One of the Marauders chittered impatiently. Ikharos felt his hackles rise at the familiar sound. Talking with them was one thing, and he had enjoyed speaking with the likes of Variks and Misraaks in the past, but fighting alongside them was another story. He still remembered the sudden fury of Devils descending upon London, the barbaric acts they committed on _his_ Ghostless, and the sheer hate they exuded during Twilight Gap. They deserved to be called 'Fallen.' The red cloaks sported by the Scars did little to put him at ease.

As quickly as his anger rose, it gave way to a solemn truth. Recent decades had seen a rise in complicated relations between humanity and Eliksni, which he'd seen first hand. They could bicker and quarrel all they liked, but the hard truth was that they were stranded on the same sinking ship and the sharks were circling ever closer. And they were noticing it far too slowly.

Ikharos Blinked up onto the top of the stone wall and crouched motionless atop a merlon as a Legionary garbed in red and green armour marched past, a slug rifle lazily resting in its heavy hands. Once it was past, Ikharos dropped a pebble behind him. He could only just hear the subsequent scrabbling of claws piercing the smooth stone wall. It did not take long for the Marauders to join him, the soft buzzing of their cloaking generators filling his ears.

"We will travel around the city's edge and watch over you." One or more of the Fallen had stepped down onto the rampart's walkway if the origin of the voice was any indication. It was hard to tell when all four of them were invisible to every visual sensor. "Do you have a radio?"

"I do." They quickly found a channel to share. "If anything looks off, tell me immediately."

"Understood. Fortune with you." The crackling faded away as the Marauders leapt down into the city. Ikharos pretended he could see them scurrying across the rooftops and streets, his eyes following along the predetermined paths he imagined they would take.

" _That was tense._ " Xiān shivered

" _Which part?_ " He innocently asked.

" _All of it? I thought we weren't going to see any of this crap again for a long time. Or forever._ "

That caught his attention. " _You think we'd stay here?_ "

He felt the mental impression of a shrug. " _Kinda? Everything here is alive. Mostly. Apart from the things that are dead. You know what I mean._ "

" _No ruins. No mass graves. No relics to remind us of a bygone age. There's the_ Exodus Prime _, but apart from that... Still, we're doing the same thing we always do; fight the Darkness._ "

" _I'd take Frames and Troubleshooter Exos over Hive any day of the week._ "

Ikharos agreed, for the most part. " _Do you think they're alive? The Exos. Do you think they're people? Or like the Taken?_ "

" _They spoke,_ " Xiān pointed out. " _That's a sign of life, right?_ "

" _It could have been Nezarec's voice._ "

" _Don't say things like that. It freaks me out._ "

Ikharos rolled his eyes. " _I mean that the Exos could be empty of independent thought. Extensions of his will._ "

" _They're too weak. If they were the extended will of an Ascendant, then they'd be more powerful, right? They're probably just working for the ExSec Submind and you're overthinking it all._ "

" _But why would they work for Nezarec if they're truly sapient?_ "

" _Easy. He convinced them to help him. Or infected them, whatever. Creatures like Oryx and Crota had followers, why not Nezarec?_ "

" _Scipio said Nezarec is Harmony. In that case, wouldn't he use his own kind?_ "

" _Hiraks used Hive more than his own Scorn,_ " Xiān stated.

" _But he still used Scorn regardless. We've seen no sign of other Harmony._ "

" _You think they're dead._ "

" _The local records state that the Grey Folk, who designed the magic employed by humans, went extinct. Humans never discover such things on their own. There's always something to push them paracausality. For Guardians, it's our Ghosts. For the Awoken, it was probably both the Traveler and Darkness both. I'm willing to bet that the Grey Folk weren't human, but they gave the people of this world the know-how on magic. The extinction of Grey Folk, the cause of which is clouded with mystery, and the absence of Harmony is too much of a coincidence. Everything here is connected, in some way. It's not like the outer galaxy. Everything draws its roots from the meeting between colonists and the Harmony." He paused. "The Books of Sorrow explicitly show the destruction of the Harmony's grand civilization through the culminated efforts of the Hive triumvirate. It's been some time since I've looked at it, but I remember that much._ "

" _What do you think they came here for?_ "

" _I don't know, but if I were them, I'd want vengeance. And I'd go by any means to do so._ "

" _So Nezarec wants vengeance?_ "

" _Maybe. I don't know. What made him so Dark? If he does, then... it does explain why he doesn't want prying eyes onto his project here. He doesn't want rivals to know what he's doing. He could be building up power to fight the Hive. Or even us and the Traveler, who knows._ " Ikharos fell silent, admiring the city below. Even though it was scarred by recent battle and the sight of Cabal ships overhead, it was a simple homely place full of sturdy wooden buildings, each fitted with blue shingled roofs. Painted patterns of knots, hounds, and dragons were displayed across doors and walls. High bell towers dotted the city, surrounding the simlarly towering keep. He could see the great fjord in the distance, sparkling with the afternoon light. It was easy to imagine all the boats that would have set out to catch fish, but none so much as floated with the Cabal about. He wondered how the people were being fed. It wouldn't surprise him if the Cabal were starving them.

It was a surprise, however, to see civilians in the streets. A subdued atmosphere had taken them all, and most stayed inside whenever possible, quietly going about their business. Their eyes were downcast and their heads were bowed; they moved aside whenever a hulking Cabal soldier marched past.

That said, life continued. The Cabal had been in a merciful mood to allow them to keep their lives.

Ikharos avoided everything when he moved through the city, slipping through alleys or scaling over buildings. He limited every use of power to only those necessary for him to remain hidden. An energy surge of any form - even in Light - would draw the attention of the Psion metaconcert, which would in turn alert the Battlenet. He'd be discovered within moments of using all but the weakest of abilities.

A scene by a marketplace caught his eye, and Ikharos regarded the single Uluru curiously. The alien soldier browsed the market stalls set in the main street and inspected the odd product with passing interest. He stopped by a merchant who sold freshly baked bread and looked over the foods for sale with what Ikharos assumed was hunger. The elder manning the stall stiffened as the giant paused before his wares, and averted his eyes when the invader removed helmet helmets with a hiss. The features of Uluru were not beautiful or fair in any way, what with their thick leathery skin, eyes set on the sides of their face, cleft upper lip and numerous small fangs. This one in particular was a hardy creature, bearing scars from previous battles and a little metal nub on the side of his head to signify the presence of cybernetic implants. His armour was different from the other soldiers, coloured cream and yellow, and he was leaner than most Uluru, though still a hulking behemoth by human standards.

"Food?" The soldier rumbled hopefully in smooth English.

"Yes!" The old man replied hurriedly. "It is, uh, yours, m'lord!"

The Uluru grunted and picked out a loaf before wandering off. Ikharos watched the Cabal soldier walk away until the invader turned a corner and disappeared from view. The difference in armour colouring worried him. Additional sublegions would make evicting the invaders all the more difficult.

Ikharos made his way to the east side of the city, the part facing inland from the Fjord, and watched for the presence of Psions. The moment he or Xiān located one, Ikharos ensured that he stayed out of their spheres of influence. Their presence was heavy, like a slight pressure in the air. The Warlock darted between them and hid if they were too numerous, never taking a chance. If they noticed him, then they'd label him as too dangerous to be left alive and act accordingly.

He found the bakery at the end of a street, completely deserted. A part of it had collapsed under a stray artillery shell. The shot must have pierced right through to the street, because the stone road behind him was torn apart. It looked just like the Last City had after the Red War.

Ikharos glanced about. No one was nearby. He used his clawed gauntlet to scratch a mark into the brickwork of the bakery's remaining walls and retreated into an alley across the street. He doubted it would amount to much. Formora's friend could have easily died in the attack, or might not even be in Ceunon. She'd said it before that it had been decades since she'd last been on the mainland. The werecat could have moved on in that time. Even so, a slim chance for valuable intel was worth chasing when he had nothing else to work on.

Only fifteen minutes later, a wildcat stalked into the alley, sniffing the air hesitantly and peering into the darkness with startling green eyes. Its flank was marked by dried blood, and one of its ears had been torn. It looked like it had been through hell. Ikharos stiffened and stood straight. "She was right..." He dropped the Void covering him. The cat jumped with fright and hissed, arching its back and baring its fangs. Ikharos lifted his empty hands. "Relax. I'm not here to fight. I've got bigger worries at the moment."

" _Who are you?_ " A youthful voice demanded from within his own mind. Ikharos flinched. He'd forgotten about that.

"I'm not your enemy," he began cautiously. He'd freely admit that werecats unnerved him. Normal felines were never capable of anything close to what their Kepler cousins could do, but he was thinking of cats on Earth. Maybe here the cats evolved just like the humans had. That was his only theory, and he knew it was weak. Telepathy was not a natural byproduct of evolution, Psions notwithstanding. "Formora sent me."

The cat's eyes narrowed. " _She's dead._ "

"Very much alive, actually." Ikharos switched to the ancient language. The words he was looking for were easy to put together. " _Eka eddyr aí fricai abr Formora._ "

The werecat stopped hissing. It was remarkably expressive for something so inhuman. " _She's alive?_ "

"She is."

The animal sat down on its hind legs. " _That's good. That's more than good. Is she nearby?_ "

"Somewhat. She's... occupied, though."

The cat slunk forward and peered up at him. " _Why are you here, friend of Formora?_ " It stopped only a couple of paces away. " _You are not human, are you? I can smell it. I can see it. You are different. What are you, stranger?_ "

"We'll get to that," Ikharos said. He knelt down. The werecat warily backed away. "How did all this happen?"

" _Metal beasts roared through the air and descended on the city as if they were raging dragons. They dropped the giants down to annihilate the Imperial soldiers and capture the keep. Lord Tarrant surrendered within the hour._ " The wildcat glanced back to the alley's entrance. " _They've assumed control over every part of the city in a day. Any sign of resistance is met with a brutal punishment. They're worse than the king. Especially the small ones._ "

"Psions. What are they doing here?"

" _I don't know. They demand answers from Tarrant and his officials everyday, but he cannot answer them._ " The cat shivered. " _They captured the king's spellcasters and put them on their great beasts to be flown across the water. I don't think they're alive anymore._ "

"They're dead," Ikharos confirmed. "They'd have been tortured for information and eventually executed."

" _They speak the human language well._ "

"Their Psions are resourceful. What are they asking Lord Tarrant?"

" _How to speak to the stars. I don't understand it._ "

Ikharos nodded understandingly. "They're stranded here. They want to send word home."

" _Why?_ "

"For more soldiers. They would conquer all of Alagaësia - and then the world."

The cat tilted its head. " _That is quite a claim._ "

"It's the truth. I've seen it before." He moved onto his next question. "Are they killing people yet?"

" _Yet?_ "

"Have they begun executing civilians?"

" _No. Only those who fought. They began by sweeping through streets, dragging people out of their homes. Those soldiers they captured in battle were publicly executed. Their message was very clear. They have since strangled trade and let no one leave. Only the nearest farms may be worked, as long as the farmers do so within sight of the giants. What does the rest empire think of Ceunon's silence?_ "

"I don't know. I haven't been to the empire recently." There was a brief silence. "How did you survive?"

" _I avoided the hellfire raining from the skies and hid away for the rest of the brief battle. The little ones noticed me not long after they captured the city. They've instructed their hounds to chase me down._ " The werecat turned and pushed its nose into its wounded side. " _They gave me this._ "

"Warbeasts," Ikharos sighed. "Damn. That only makes this more difficult."

" _What more difficult?_ "

"I need your help. Formora said that you notice things. A sort of information dealer, right?"

" _I have happened across secrets, yes,_ " the werecat cautiously admitted. " _Is there something you seek?_ "

"The Cabal captured prisoners from outside the city. The prisoners aren't... local. They aren't human or anything like that. They have four arms, four eyes, and-"

" _Smell like clean sugar?_ " The werecat asked.

Ikharos nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Them. You've seen them?"

" _The invaders smuggled them in under the cover of night, but I could see them. The prisoners looked just as unusual as their captors. One of your friends bit a giant. They must be brave._ " The cat paused. " _I know where they are. But I need something in return._ "

The Warlock groaned. "I'm on a tight schedule. Make it quick."

" _I want out of this city. I can barely find enough food, I don't have any place to safely sleep, I... I need out._ "

"Why don't you just climb over the... I see your problem now." Ikharos grimaced. Even a cat wouldn't be able to escape the attention of Uluru. There wouldn't be anywhere to hide in the open fields surrounding the city, not with gunners at the walls. "I've got a plan to get out. You can tag along if you want, but you'll have to keep up. And keep out of sight. If you expose us, we're dead."

" _Then it is settled. The giants brought them to the former Imperial barracks under the cover of darkness. It is heavily fortified, and manned by more giants. Your prisoners may be beyond saving. Can we go now?_ " The werecat asked hopefully.

"Can't." Ikharos shook his head. "I need them alive and free."

" _Why? Are they friends of yours?_ "

"Friends? No. But if we don't extract them Formora will die."

" _Oh._ "

"Yeah."

" _How?_ "

"Friends of those I'm here to save."

The cat made an unhappy chuffing noise. " _The giants guard those prisoners. We won't be able to slip past them._ "

"Then we won't. I'll kill them."

" _A direct assault will attract the attention of their brethren._ "

"I'll kill them quietly."

The cat quietly absorbed that. " _The giants cannot be felled. Not one was brought down by the Imperial soldiers._ "

"I'm different. I've killed Cabal before."

The feline grunted. " _I hope so. For both our sakes._ " It didn't blink once as it looked up into his shaded visor. " _I am Alfr._ "

"Ikharos."

" _I hope you're capable, Ikharos. Or we will both die in this forsaken city._ "

* * *

Security around the barracks was heavy. Ikharos saw fifteen Uluru soldiers milling about the squat rectangular building. Two Psions spoke to one another in the middle of the street before the building. Scorpius turrets had been set up on each corner of the roof. It was locked up tight.

Ikharos finished looking it over, then slipped back behind the piled rubble of what used to be a grand house. The werecat looked up expectantly as he withdrew his cloak of Void. "There's too many Cabal," he assessed.

" _Told you,_ " Alfr tiredly told him.

Ikharos ignored the cat and activated the radio in his helmet, speaking Eliksni. " _Velask._ I've found where your kin are kept."

"Eia? This is good." The Marauder on the other side sounded ecstatic.

"It's too heavily guarded. I can handle a few guards without raising the alarm, but not this many. I need a distraction."

There was a brief period of silence. " _Eia,_ I can give you one. It will make them alert, though. Move quickly, Light-Thief."

Ikharos scowled. "Son of a tech witch..." He switched off the radio. Alfr looked up at him questioningly. Before he could even answer, the distant, though unmistakable, sound of an explosion filled the air. The cat yelped and twirled about.

" _That was quick,_ " Xiān noted. " _You gotta give them that, at least. Fallen work fast._ "

" _What was that?!_ " Alfr asked urgently.

Ikharos blinked. He didn't like it when more than one person was speaking directly into his mind. It was disorientating. "An opportunity," he answered gruffly. He could hear the shouts in Ulurant; the soldiers had noticed it too. It was not long before he next heard the clatter of heavy boots on cobbled streets. A group of Cabal pelted past the Warlock and werecat. The two Psions sprinted with them, outrunning their larger comrades. Ikharos pulled in his consciousness and Light, and doused it in Void to mask his presence. It did the trick, and not one soldier turned to look their way.

When the Cabal were long gone, Alfr said, " _That can't be all of them._ "

"I'll deal with whatever's left. Come on." Ikharos ran around the corner. The cat ran to keep up.

Two Legionaries remained, within the courtyard of the barracks and guarding the entrance. Ikharos slowed to stroll, and when he was in range, he Blinked in front of them, Orúm in hand. With one sweeping arc he decapitated them both. As the heavy bodies fell, Xiān suppressed the active signals sent to the Battlenet, making it appear as if nothing had happened to the pair.

Their pressurized armour hadn't given him much issue, Ikharos was glad to see. The longsword had torn through the reinforced metal like a hot knife through butter.

Alfr wordlessly joined him, looking between the Uluru bodies and wrinkling his nose in disgust. The scent of their blood mixed with black oil from their suits was heavy. Ikharos activated a filter in his helmet to avoid catching a whiff of the stench.

He pushed open the wide double doors and slipped inside. The barracks were large, but only a few rooms were sizable enough for Cabal, so he followed the main corridor to the back of the building. The rug and stone floor was muddied and burnt. It must have been a temporary base, given the lack of appropriate equipment. They likely had plans to move elsewhere.

Another set of double doors rested at the end of the corridor. Ikharos could hear a mechanical hum from inside. Someone talking. A sharp retort from another. He didn't need to listen any longer, and he crashed through the doors.

Two cells had been cordoned off with energy barriers, and each held a pair of Fallen prisoners. The last pair of the set were in the centre of the room, one lying dead on the floor and the other held up by chains connected to the ceiling. That Marauder, the one still breathing, was beaten and bloodied, though he still had the strength to snarl at his interrogator. The torturer - a Centurion - twirled around, blood-drenched knife in hand, and stared at Ikharos.

"What are you do-" It began in Ulurant, but Orúm had pierced the Cabal's throat before it could finish its sentence.

Ikharos coldly shoved the corpse aside and sheathed the longsword. The Fallen all looked at him with puzzlement clear in their glowing eyes, but every one of them had a stubborn fire in their eyes. Their armour and weapons had been taken from them, and each bore wounds of some kind, though the one in the centre of the room was the worst by far. He was a grievous sight, missing an eye and one hand, and some of the exoskeleton plates on his chest and his wounded arm had been pried off, revealing ragged pink flesh beneath. Ether and blood leaked from his injuries, and what eyes he had left glowed with a dim, subdued light. Without help he wouldn't be last very long.

Ikharos hesitated. All his instincts told him to kill the captured Marauder. It would have been a mercy. It would have been the right thing to do. On Earth he wouldn't have thought twice about it and shot the pirate immediately.

 _But this isn't Earth_ _,_ he reminded himself. He tugged out his knife and sliced through the links of the chains. It took every shred of willpower he had to resist turning the blade on the Marauder's throat.

"Who... are you?" The Marauder coughed.

"Your Captain wants you back." Ikharos didn't meet the Fallen's eyes. He could deal with their scribes without issue, but their kind's warriors always brought out the killer in him. Courtesy of the House of Devils, of course. They'd ruined the entire species for Ikharos. Not that the other Houses had done much to fix that.

"Sundrass?" The Marauder asked hopefully.

"Just shut up and accept your rescue."

**000**

"You oaf!" Tlac laughed over the radio. It was a good sound. Cadon appreciated the chance to hear it once more. He sat back against the wall of the abandoned cathedral and smiled within the stifling confines of his helmet.

"He just offered it to me. What am I supposed to do?" Zhonoch's voice was muffled, coming through the radio with a buzz. Stuffing his face with... what had they called it? Bread? An odd word for an odd thing. Cadon hadn't tried any of the food that the native species hoarded. He didn't trust that they wouldn't poison it. Or that it was even suitable for consumption.

"How goes it on your end?" The sniper asked. He regretted it immediately. He could feel the grimace coming through his bond with his brother, even miles apart. The distance diminished the sensation and kept him from tasting their thoughts, but emotions were harder to suppress.

"The prisoners bring with them further complications," Tlac reported bitterly. "Their abilities stem from a language-based paracausality. Each word has power over what it describes, not unlike the glyphs of Hive language. It converts raw energy from the user's own body. It is impure, yet the possibilities it presents us with are nearly limitless."

"Sounds... semi-useful," Zhonoch commented. Cadon felt a faint wave of warmth from Tlac's end of the bond; the gladiator brought out the best in him.

"That's not all."

"There's more magic?"

"No, worse than... 'magic'," Tlac spat out the word. "I've scrounged all I could from their minds and I've found mentionings of… dragons."

"Ahamkara," Zhonoch growled darkly.

"That's not going to be fun," Cadon noted. He couldn't remember when it had been, but his first and only Ahamkara sighting had been a tense moment. The beast had colossal, and paid the Cabal guns aimed at it no mind.

"No, it isn't." Tlac took a breath. "If we sight one, the Primus wants us to pull back immediately. Then hit it with all we've got."

"Might not work," the Vigilant said. "Those things know how to fight back. Ahamkara are a matter for Flayers, not soldiers."

"That's what I've told him. He's not listening. He seems to think that artillery will fix the problem. He pays no mind to the importance of the non-causal." Tlac's voice fell to a hushed whisper. "But he doesn't command the Soulrazers."

"What are you saying?" Cadon asked suspiciously.

"Zhonoch is the highest-ranking Soulrazer present. In truth, he commands our subcohort, not the Primus. We were sent to accompany, not join, the Worldbreakers. We are another legion, not a subdivision."

"This is treasonous," Cadon warned.

"It's the truth," Tlac shot back.

Zhonoch growled. "I will not split apart our ranks on a hypothetical matter."

Tlac quickly responded. "I'm not saying you should. We might not find a living, or dead, Ahamakra, but if we do..."

"... I'll think about it."

"I won't ask for any more than that."

Cadon released a breath. "You could get yourself killed saying such things."

"I'm just taking after Zhonoch."

"Yeah, it's making me nervous," the Vigilant murmured.

Cadon keenly felt the disappointment, the crashed hope. He sent a pulse of sympathy his brother's way, but it went unnoticed.

He could hear the defeat in Tlac's voice. "Oh. I'll be more careful next time."

A sudden noise echoed through the air, rocking the ground. Cadon surged to his feet. He heard Zhonoch crashing into something hard through the radio and the muffled curse that followed.

"What's happening?!" Tlac asked sharply, assuming a professional demeanor. He sounded like an officer with his authoritative tone.

"Grrrgh," Zhonoch growled. At least he was alive.

"Explosion," Cadon barked back. He grabbed his headhunter rifle. "Tell the Primus. I'm switching to local comms."

The sniper left the call and dipped into the Battlenet radio. Val Brutis was already bellowing orders. "-looks like Eliksni handiwork! Get over there and put out the fires, now! Before they reach the ammunition!"

"On it!" A Centurion answered. "Pulling first and fourth squadrons with me!"

"Prepare for cloaked attacks! They're in the city!"

"Deploying sensors," another Psion reported. "Nothing here. Seventh maniple will sweep northwards."

"Get them!" Brutis ordered brusquely. "Inform me of their locations immediately! We will strike with the fury of true Cabal!"

A howl accompanied her words, the combined support of all those listening in. Cadon wordlessly sprinted to the stairs of the cathedral and used his jump-pack to speed his flight to the top of the bell tower. Once he reached the summit, he activated every sensor on his headhunter and peered through the scope, his single eye roving over the signatures of hundreds of cowering natives hidden in their fragile homes. The streets had cleared within moments after the explosion. They understood the sounds of warfare, even if the lesson was only recently taught.

His attention was soon drawn to the smoke cloud billowing up, lightning crackling within the column of mist. He knew, from hard-earned experience, how much the Eliksni liked Arc weaponry. They must have dropped a dozen grenades into the storehouse. Cadon cursed. The use of human buildings was supposed to be a temporary thing, and now they reaped the benefits of using flimsy wooden and stone structures. The explosion must have consumed at least half their black oil supply.

A blue flash. Cadon barely ducked in time to avoid the Arc shot. He leapt back to his feet, but the sniper had already jumped from his perch down into the maze of streets and activated his cloaking device. Cadon activated his radio.

"Soulrazer Specialist LXV reporting. Marauder sighting in sector IV. I've just lost him. I believe he's heading north-west."

"Acknowledged, Weaver," came a Centurion's reply. "Fifth squadron en route. Check for hostiles."

"Checking," Cadon swept his gaze around, but he couldn't pick anything. He doubted the sniper was working alone. Eliksni were cunning creatures. There was a fair chance that this too was a ploy. "Negative on visual. Possibly a trap. Watch yourselves."

"Understood."

He looked around and around... and there, movement. Brief, yet important all the same. He'd been in the legions too long already; he knew what to look for.

It was only a human with one of their trained animals. The bright colours of the human's garb held Cadon's attention, but not for long - only fool disregarded the dangers posed by Marauders. He was just about to turn away when he saw them.

"Soulrazer Specialist LXV reporting. Eliksni prisoners have breached captivity! I've got sights on them!"

"What? How?!" The Val bellowed.

"Prisoners are being accompanied and aided by a human." He zoomed in with the headhunter's scope. "Human is armed! I repeat, human is armed! He has a firearm! Location is sector II, heading east!"

"Ninth and third squadrons, converge! The attack on the storehouse was a distraction! Kill them all!"

"What about second and eighth?" Another officer asked.

Brutis didn't take long to answer. "Hold. This may be another distraction. Weaver, open fire. Pin them down!"

"Understood." Cadon picked his target, took aim, and fired.

**000**

"Come, Erdriks!" One of the Fallen cried out. "We must move quickly!"

Erdriks, whom had suffered terribly under the Centurion's knife, groaned and stumbled. He couldn't keep up. Blood dripped down from his fingers, leaving a clear wine-coloured trail that even a child could follow.

" _Quickly!_ " Alfr urged Ikharos. " _Before they discover us!_ "

Ikharos would have replied if a Solar shot hadn't slammed into his shields and sent him skidding across the road. He picked himself up within a moment and looked around for the origin of the shot. The telltale smoke trail of a headhunter slug led directly to a bell tower miles away.

Ikharos glared at in the sniper's direction and summoned the raging Arc within. Too long had it been suppressed, and given this chance, it bucked against his grip, yet Ikharos held on and slowly raised his arm, exercising his control. When it had built up into a destructive force that threatened to pull him apart, he let go. A beam of crackling Arc flew from his palm and crashed through the bell tower.

**000**

Cadon didn't anticipate the human to have a personal energy shield. He didn't anticipate the human to survive the heavy Solar-infused slug hitting him with enough force to shatter a Hive knight's carapace. And he would never have anticipated the human to respond in such a destructive manner. The Arc beam tore through the tower below and sliced diagonally through the strictly, bisecting through the stonework with surgical precision. The floor below the sniper's feet groaned and buckled, and inevitably tipped to the side. Cadon had little time to comprehend what had just happened, and even less to face the growing problem of the collapsing bell tower. His growing panic must have alerted his brothers for he could feel Tlac's and Orche's growing concern through their stretched concert. He didn't have enough time to send a message back.

Cadon leapt from the falling tower and activated his jump-jets, which momentarily slowed his fall. Unfortunately, the fuel counter on his HUD told him with frightening clarity how fast what black oil he had was being burnt up. Jump-packs were designed for brief jumps or to speed their sprints, not keep them in the air. Those modifications were reserved for officers only. Cadon strafed down, getting dangerously close to the collapsing human cathedral beneath, but he wasn't fast enough. His jump-jets ran out, and he plummeted into the chaos below

**000**

When the Arc fizzled out, Ikharos twirled around and approached Erdriks. The Eliksni, and accompanying werecat, stared at him in blatant terror. Ignoring the snarls of protest and yips of alarm, the Warlock gathered the residual energy and formed it into a handheld rift, which he pushed onto the wounded Eliksni's chest. The wounds healed almost immediately, and new chitin grew to cover the places missing their exoskeleton shell. Erdriks looked as good as new.

Ikharos felt drained, exhausted of all his gathered Arc. He tiredly looked at Alfr and said, "Get them to the siege tunnel, and fast."

" _What about you?_ " The werecat asked fearfully. Alfr kept his distance from the Warlock.

"Doesn't matter about me!" Ikharos snapped. "Just go!" He grabbed Erdriks shoulder in a tight grip the Fallen was sure to feel and hissed, "Tell Sundrass to keep her word. Or I _will_ repay the debt in kind."

The healed Marauder nodded numbly. When Ikharos let go, the band scampered off. When they were gone and out of sight, Ikharos breathed in deeply.

" _You know we just alerted about every Psion in the city, right?_ "

"I know." He checked his Lumina, his fingers sliding across the smooth ivory barrel. It was his beast, and it hungered for the chance to roar. "They'll be too busy with us to even _think_ about chasing down the others."

He felt Xiān smile. " _You've done a good thing._ "

"Are we back to the old days? Where you celebrate my every good deed?"

" _These aren't the old days anymore. These are the now days. We're going to have to change._ "

"Change how?" Ikharos asked. He could hear the thrum of engines. The crash of heavy soldiers running across the stone roads, tearing through the city to get to him.

" _This world isn't Earth. It isn't Sol. This is Kepler, and it doesn't need a Guardian. It needs a Warlord._ "

A brief silence stretched out between them.

Xiān laughed. " _That was the corniest thing I've ever said._ "

Ikharos grinned. "I liked it."

" _Of course you liked it. I'm praising you, after all._ "

A Thresher soared up from the horizon, lifting away from the rooftops of the city, and it headed straight his way. The cannon beneath its hull whirred to life.

Ikharos Blinked aside and began running towards the gunship. He holstered his hand cannon and Blinked again as the stream of Solar rounds tore through the pavement.. He jumped and propelled himself with a glide, and the Thresher slowed to a stop, and fired homing missiles. Once more, Ikharos Blinked out of danger, warping straight in front of the gunship and planting the Orúm into its hull. The Uluru gaped at him through the glass of the cockpit.

Ikharos focused his grenade energy into a supernova and slammed his palm into the ship. He leapt back as the Void hungrily tore the gunship apart, and glided down safely. The Thresher, consumed by indigo flames, collapsed on the road before him.

A microrocket whizzed by his head, and a second slug glanced off his shield. Ikharos twirled around, drew his Lumina, and dropped the five approaching Legionaries. Three Phalanx, bearing shields of solid metal as opposed to the lighter - and weaker - energy barriers used by the Red Leigon, scarcely managed to avoid the fate of their comrades. Ikharos fixed that by Blinking behind them and putting three bullets in each of the Cabal's jump-paths. Only charred carcasses remained.

Another squadron charged around the street corner behind him and opened fire, their Centurion loudly bellowing orders over the roar of rifles.. Ikharos put the last bullet in Lumina's chamber into the officer's skull. His soldiers, trained professionals, only paused momentarily and resumed their barrage.

Ikharos dove aside and waited until his shield had recharged, then Blinked into their ranks and struck out with his longsword. He was rewarded with an agonized howl, and kept slashing. The Cabal caught on quickly and tried to back away and space out, but Ikharos moved too fast. He danced around the clumsy Uluru, used them as barriers against the guns of their allies, and left them no time to change tactics.

With a free hand he smashed a fist into a Psion's head. The alien's skull released a violet puff and it slumped over, and the next moment he impaled an Incendior with his sword, lit up its fuel tanks, and tossed it towards its still living comrades with a mix of his own strength and the use of his mind. Four more were consumed in the explosion.

One of the soldiers struck lucky and managed to grab Ikharos' arm. He rewarded its efforts by kicking it hard enough in the chest for its armour to buckle and cave in, killing it instantly, but it achieved its purpose. Microrockets assailed his shield and shattered it, then proceeded to rip through him.

Ikharos gritted his teeth and audibly snarled. Undeterred, he Blinked again and sliced one of the gunners in two, beheading the next. He tossed his knife between the eyes of a third, then tore it back out with his mind and returned it to his hand to be used again.

The last of the squadron, two Psions and a Legionary, kept up their assault. The larger of the three cracked its fist against Ikharos, and the colossal force of the blow tossed him to the ground. The Warlock turned the tumble into a roll, and he projected Orúm forward to run the Cabal through. The Uluru was thrown against the wall and skewered upon the longsword, while Ikharos teleported to one of the Psions and snapped its neck with his bare hands. The last he destroyed with a lazy wave of his hand, tearing it apart in a contained shockwave of Void.

Pain forced him to his knees. "Xiān..." He gasped.

" _More incoming!_ "

With a roar, Ikharos forced himself to stand and tossed a Voidwall grenade. The new group Cabal turned to find their way blocked by fierce purple flames. Xiān felt safe enough to briefly appear and heal him.

The downed Thresher behind them blew apart in a flash of scarlet fire. Beyond it, halfway-obscured by the smoke, a Goliath hovertank floated with its energy cannon glowing with heat.

" _Psesiskars!_ " Ikharos cursed. The tank fired again so he sidestepped the shot. The planet-cracker shell zipped past him, crashing into the squadron beyond the Voidwall. The tank resorted to its flak cannons after that.

Ikharos ducked behind the shield of a Phalanx he'd slain and said, "I need heavy ordnance for this!"

Xiān wordlessly dropped a rocket launcher. Ikharos hefted the familiar weight of the Gjallarhorn onto his shoulders, darted out of cover, and let loose a Wolfpack round. The rocket split into half a dozen missiles and struck true. The Goliath shuddered; one of its thrusters flickered out, forcing it down onto the ground at one end. The previously pristine front of the hovertank had been slagged to hell and back.

Ikharos ran past the red-hot remains of the Thresher, jumped up, and tossed a Nova Bomb down onto the vulnerable war machine. It came apart in a swirling vortex of ravenous antimatter.

He was left with a solid twenty seconds to catch his breath and recover a fraction of Light. A trio of Interceptors, with two more Goliaths behind them, entered his sight and surged towards him from further down the street And behind them, more squadrons marched past the corpses of their comrades and over the dying Void flames.

" _It's going to be a long day._ " Xiān swapped his Gjallarhorn for a Winterwolf.

"It is."

**000**

"Mine-Captain, good news!" A Splicer ran in. Sundrass' eyes darted up from the sword she had been sharpening.

"Yes?" She demanded. "What is it?"

"Iriikas-Marauder has reported in! They have our kin!"

"All of them?" Sundrass asked. She hadn't dared to think it possible.

"Ah, no." The Splicer fidgeted uncomfortably. "Muerniks was killed by the Cabal, but the rest live."

"He didn't save them all." She stood up. "I will gift him a fraction of the punishment. Where is the Light-Thief?"

"In the city, mine-Captain. Erdriks has informed us that the human remained to cover their escape."

Sundrass chuckled darkly. "He dies, then. The Cabal will rip him limb from limb."

"Captain?"

"When our foes fight one another, wherein is the risk to us?"

"Y-yes, Captain, it is as you say." The Splicer bowed.

She brushed past him. "Come. We will gather our Skiffs and free our kind of their pursuers."

"No pursuers, mine-Captain."

"... None?" She paused by the exit of the underground chamber, all of her eyes narrowed. "Cabal are not easy to shake. Surely you are mistaken."

"Iriikas reported otherwise, mine-Captain." The Splicer, a non-combatant, touched his forehead to the rocky ground in a display of humility. "They did not detect the waiting Skiff. He says that the Cabal vessels stayed to fight the human."

"A lone human? Iriikas must be mistaken. We must ensure that-"

At that moment Moliko rushed into sight, eyes widened. "Mine-Captain!" He cried out. He gave a brief warrior's salute that contrasted wildly with the Splicer's bow and swiftly said, "Tarrhis-Baron has sent out word. He flies to join us and regather the loyalists of Scar!"

Sundrass' hearts lifted. It was like the universe was moving events to support her climb up the ladder. More of this, and by the war's end she would be a Baron. "Then we will welcome him!" She announced. "Gather ether! We will have much to celebrate!"

* * *

Sundrass wore her best cloak and donned polished armour as she waited in the largest chamber of the cave, standing by the deactivated holotable and beside a Servitor primed for ether production. She'd ordered that all her crews rouse themselves and stand at attention as an honour-guard for their commanding Baron.

When Tarrhis stalked in, with Kiphoris trailing behind, and behind _him_ followed Raksil, the Baron's heir, with their young Kell cradled in the Vandal's arms. Sundrass brightened her eyes and happily greeted them. " _Velask, Tarrhis-Mrelliks! Velask, Kiphoris-Veskirisk!_ It is good to see you both strong and bright-eyed!"

" _Velask, Sundrass-Veskirisk._ " Tarrhis closed his outer eyes. "I am happy to join together mine-crews once more."

"You have called to regather our strength?" Now was not the time to reveal her success. It would make her appear as nothing more than a child eager to impress a parent. Sundrass wanted her reputation of strength and stern authority to remain unchecked. She glanced at Kiphoris warmly; his armour had been shined, just as she asked. She clicked appreciatively. Perhaps, if the celebrations for her cunning victory went to plan, she could reach out and bestow a token upon the fellow Captain and begin courtship. The former Wolf did not meet her gaze, however. He looked about the chamber with a puzzled air.

"I smell humans," he said suddenly.

Sundrass chirped. "Ah, yes. Mine-Baron, I have great news to deliver. When your call went out to alert us of the grave threat posed by the-"

"I know this scent!" Kiphoris gasped. He removed his grand winged helmet, allowing his plumage of deep blue hair to stand on end. He locked eyes with their Baron. "I know this scent from wars-past!"

"What matters have you conducted with humans?" Tarrhis rumbled suspiciously, closing his inner eyes and settling his powerful gaze on Sundrass. The cheer had been stripped from his voice, replaced by the iron-whip tone of a battle-hardened warrior.

Sundrass felt as if her success was slipping away from her. She strived to regain control before it spiraled out of her grasp. "I outwitted the Light-Thief!" She crowed. "And he will die to Cabal guns before the rotation is out!"

Both Kiphoris and Tarrhis froze.

"What?" The Baron asked very quietly. Sundrass' instincts flared up; she knew something was amiss.

She paused and stopped to take stock of the situation. She couldn't understand what had happened. She'd not only enacted the Baron's will, but weakened and distracted their enemies. The Cabal would be distracted! They could strike and achieve an incredible victory that future generations of Scar would gush over for hundreds of Riis-years! "I, ah, set the Light-Thief to battle the Cabal. They captured a human city, stationing many of their soldiers there to hold it. I tricked the Light-Thief to go to them!"

Tarrhis loomed over her. "That was not what I wanted. I demanded that the Light-Thief be brought before me."

"But... it was said he was no friend to Eliksni! He even admitted to warring with other banners, killing Kells!" Sundrass' stance loosened and she began to hunch over, giving in to ancient primal instincts tied to her growing confusion and fear.

Kiphoris snapped his teeth impatiently. He looked to be on the verge of panic. Which was impossible. Kiphoris was steadfast, unfazed by any development no matter how worrying. "Name?! What was the Light-Thief's name?!"

"He called himself _Ikha Riis_ _._ "

"Oh..." She'd never seen Kiphoris made speechless. Sundrass gawked as the other Captain looked as if he had been struck, had the ether ripped straight out of him. "Oh, psekisk."

"Kiphoris?" Tarrhis asked. "What is wrong? You know this creature?"

" _Eia_ _,_ I have heard of it. From briefly-allied Devils, from turncloak Kings, from captured Captains and Barons sent to Judgement's prison, I have heard of it." Kiphoris shuddered. "Light-Thieves are strong, always, and it is healthy to know fear of them. Some are known as great slayers of all those who trespass on the lands of their House. Ikharos, the one spoken of, is among those great slayers. I've heard talk that he was Kell from the time before the banner of Light-Thieves was woven. He killed Draksis, Winter-Kell, and news spread throughout the Houses within the system. When Wolves rebelled against our human Kell, he hunted us across a jungle world. And when _Skolas-kel_ _,_ undeserving of station, contracted for Taniks, the Scarred, to gather strength on behalf of Wolves, Ikharos was there to bring down the traitor's Ketch."

"He killed Taniks?" Tarrhis asked, leaning over the Captain. "Taniks is dead?"

" _Eia,_ perhaps." Kiphoris was not quite as ecstatic about it as the Baron. "Taniks may be dead. I do not know whether this Light-Thief killed Taniks or it was one of his packmates, but Ikharos was there and chased the mercenary's crew into the Freelance Kell's ship. Mine-Baron, this Light-Thief is a killer of Ketches. Cabal will not destroy him. He will turn to fight us. We should not have revealed ourselves to him!"

"Why didn't you tell me of Taniks' fate before?" Tarrhis growled dangerously

"It... was not the time," Kiphoris mumbled, shamefaced.

"Gah! Where is this slayer-of-traitors?" Tarrhis demanded, turning his gaze back to Sundrass.

"The human city..." Sundrass glanced between Baron and fellow Captain. Her victory had turned to ash, that much was clear to her. "I sent him into the city to die."

"Show me."

Sundrass activated the holotable. An orange light filtered upwards to form the city. The first thing she noted were the Cabal ships darting above the streets in a confused manner. Not one dipped lower, circling like birds whose nest had been taken over by a voracious predator. The next was the warzone below, situated in what had formerly been a wide city street. The buildings in the immediate vicinity had been broken apart or flattened, and the husks of many Cabal war machines rested in burning piles of scrap metal. She saw the tiny figures that were the Caball scurry about the area like panicked insects.

Her blood ran cold as the form of yet another Goliath was abruptly broken apart with ruthless efficiency. A miniscule shape, barely recognizable as sharing the basic shape of humans, leapt away from the wreckage.

"This is the power of the Great Machine's Light?" Tarrhis breathed, studying the same scene. "Incredible. Imagine what a true-spirited Kell might do with that might…"

"They will slow him, they will hurt him, but they will not gift him true death," Kiphoris solemnly vowed. "Light-Thieves are mighty warriors, despite their frail bodies."

"How is it you convinced him to walk into the Cabal's territory?" Raksil inquired, who had been up that moment completely silent.

Sundrass never let her eyes move from the battle. "I threatened the life of another human. A comrade of his."

"Another Light-Thief?" Kiphoris asked, surprised. He was _terrified_.

"No!" Sundrass denied quickly. "Not a Light-Thief, a mere human!"

"Is it still here?" Tarrhis asked her.

" _Eia._ "

"Bring it, quickly!"

"Moliko!" Sundrass called. Her brother's heir nodded and scurried away. She turned back. "What are your wishes, mine-Baron?"

Tarrhis looked at her with a stern gaze. " _Sundrass-Veskirisk_ _,_ you have worked _against_ my wishes. There may be some merit to your actions, if we can salvage this. I have come to attack the Cabal with our gathered numbers and use their machines to enhance our ether production and to further strengthen our warriors." He paused. "I would have waited for Palkra to join us with his crews, but now the Cabal are distracted. Weakened. Spread thin. We must strike before they rally themselves!" Tarrhis lifted himself up to his full height and roared, shaking the very walls of the cave. "We strike! Quick, mine-Eliksni, bring forth your courage and ready your swords! Ready your Arcarms! Ready your Skiffs and your love for combat, for we fly to war!"

Invigorated, those of Sundrass' crews, along with those accompanying both Kiphoris and their Baron, echoed the call and drew their many weapons. The noise was deafening, and on any other time Sundrass would have joined in.

Now, instead, she felt as if she had made a fatal mistake.

"What of the Light-Thief, mine-Baron?!" Kiphoris shouted to be heard.

Tarrhis laughed. "Long have I waited to hear of Taniks' demise, and now I may reach his slayer! I must meet this warrior, who purged the traitor from our banner's history and congratulate him! He has done me a great service, a service to all Scars!"

"He is dangerous, mine-Baron!" Kiphoris argued. His eyes narrowed. "I call upon the right to enact a duel with the Light-Thief."

Silence fell over the cave within moments. Tarrhis faced the Captain and asked, dangerously, "On what grounds?"

"On grounds of honour. He hunted my kin and I when we followed Skolas. I lost my chance to battle with him before, so I must do so now!" Kiphoris growled out the words. "I must face him, to satisfy the legacy of _Mraskilaasan!_ "

"Denied." Tarrhis told him firmly. "You are of _Kalakhselen._ You are of Scar."

"But, mine-Baron-!"

"Enough," Tarrhis ordered. "You have heard my decree. Kiphoris, you will join me on my Skiff and translate the words of the human Sundrass gifts us. Then, when we meet him, you will translate the words of the traitor-slayer. There will be no duel."

"But… he stole the Great Machine's gift!"

"That is a grievous slight against all Eliksni if true, and I will investigate it further, but I will not deliver death upon one who cleansed our banner of rot without knowing the truth of the matter."

"I... yes, mine-Baron." Kiphoris bowed his head.

The Baron turned back to Sundrass. "And you... when the battle is over, and we are victorious, you will apologize to the traitor-slayer, should he prove no foe. You will make amends." His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. "Am I clear?"

"You are clear, mine-Baron." Sundrass dipped her head, hearts hammering in her chest. Her gaze kept returning to the hologram. _I have unleashed a monster._

**000**

Ikharos grunted as he emptied his cannon into Colossus, and Xiān refilled it with bullets. He'd long since stopped using comprehensible words, saving his breath. Every movement was a calculated risk. _How much effort should I expend on taking down that Phalanx? How can I kill that Psion with the least effort? Can I use that Legionary's gun to kill the rest of his squad? Can I throw that Incendior onto that Interceptor?_

Every step spelled death for yet another alien. Every leap, every Blink, every use of Void Light, it always ended in Ikharos killing and maiming, in spreading as much chaos as he could. His body was battered, bruised in too many places to count, and he sported wounds that would have crippled ordinary humans. The pain was a constant, and unwanted, companion. It was the complaint of his body screaming at him that he was mortal, he was vulnerable, and he was being damaged. He ignored it. Death didn't scare him; he'd get back up again.

His biggest worry was how much ammunition he was working through and the state of his armour. He'd already used up most of the weapons Scipio supplied him with, wielding them as impromptu clubs when the bullets ran dry. Beating an armour-clad Uluru to death with the butt of a sidearm had been more than difficult, but he did it anyways. He hoped Wei Ning approved, wherever she was.

The Cabal had begun to learn, bit by bit, and pulled back to fire at him at range, but he solved that issue by Blinking into their midst. They used heavily armoured vehicles, he used what little Light he had left to take them apart. Now they'd set up firing lines to shot him down, with Psions blocking his attempts to teleport into their ranks with the combined might of their minds. Ikharos dipped out, Blinking out of the ragged street, and he tried to make his escape.

They used Warbeasts to corral him into a narrow alley, with nowhere left to go. The soldiers quickly closed in as the hounds snapped and ripped at the Warlock, and they waited for the moment he'd be brought low. Ikharos responded by punching and kicking, killing the warbeasts as quickly as he could. His sword was too large for such close-quarters, so he made do with what he had.

One of the beasts broke through his shield - which had been shattered at least a hundred times by that point - and clamped its mouth down on his leg. In a fit of brutality spurred by hot anger, Ikharos grasped its jaws and forced them apart through sheer strength, not stopping until he heard a snap and the animal went limp.

The other Warbeasts whimpered and fled. Their masters fell silent, yet they did not budge. Their courage was to be commended, Ikharos would give them that.

Ikharos shouted obscenities at the Cabal, glaring through the shattered visor of his helmet, and emptied a final magazine's worth of submachine gun rounds into their mass, forcing them back to find cover behind Phalanx shields.. After that he was down to his knife and sword. Ikharos grinned maniacally, as blood streamed from his nose, and dared the brutes to come closer.

A huge Uluru tore past the rest and let loose a booming war cry. It, or rather she if the tusks were any indication, rose up into the air on a modified jump-pack he'd only ever seen once before. Ikharos cursed and scarcely managed to jump out of the way as the huge Cabal, an officer of some kind, slammed down on his position with a Solar-powered gauntlet. The tusked Uluru wasn't finished, however, and activated a jet boost once more to crash into him and smash through the abandoned building beyond. Wood shattered and snapped around them as they crashed through too many walls to count, and they broke through the opposite side of the - thankfully - uninhabited house.

Ikharos was sent tumbling across the cobbled road next street over, and he lurched to his feet the moment he recovered. His opponent was already up by then and running straight for him. He dimly thought, in the back of his mind, that the jetpack made her look like an airplane just before she hit him.

For a second time they flew, and when they touched down, the Cabal had slammed Ikharos against a heavy stone wall. The wall could have been the barrier surrounding the keep, but Ikharos was too preoccupied with the Uluru pinning him against the stone to care. She didn't waste any time with talk or threats, instead jutting her head forward and ramming one of her tusks through his torso with a sickening crunch.

Not to be outdone, Ikharos gritted his teeth so hard he was sure they would shatter and swung Orúm into the Cabal's neck, sawing almost halfway through before his strength abandoned him. The damage was done, though, and the Uluru gave one last gurgling grunt before buckling and falling back, taking her tusks with her. Ikharos cried out as the spiked appendage tore out of his stomach with a spray of blood, and he fell hard onto the stone floor below.

"Xi... ān..." He croaked.

" _I'll... I'll try to heal you..._ " A warmth spread through him, not quite numbing the pain, and it ended a second later. Ikharos felt as weak as before, and when he touched his wound, he found it only partially mended. Ikharos grimaced. As long as he wasn't bleeding to death, he didn't really care. The scars didn't bother him.

" _We need to go!_ " An edge of panic had entered Xiān's voice

A row of Legionaries, each one of them armed with slug rifles, marched into view and took aim. Ikharos didn't have the power left to Blink. Not even the physical energy to take another step. "Psekisk..." He muttered, and closed his eyes.

A sudden inhuman screech forced his eyes to shoot open again, and just in time to see a smoking Harvester crash down just behind the Legionaries. They lowered their guns and looked up. Ikharos followed their lead. The half-cloaked form of a Fallen Skiff flitted close-by overhead.

Ikharos smiled, his every breath ragged. "Here come the vultures."

Another Fallen vessel strafed overhead and tore apart the Legionaries with a burst of concentrated Arc blasts. More Skiffs fell out of cloaking and began to rain hell down on the Cabal formations below or shoot down every Thresher they could find. Ikharos gave up on the task of standing up and fell back, content to watch the Fallen at work. He wondered when they'd turn those guns of theirs on him.

Ikharos weakly crawled back to the wall of the keep and sat with his back to the cold stone wall. His eyes closed halfway; he felt like he could sleep for a week straight. Even as exhausted as he was, he couldn't stop watching the battle. It was clearly going the way of the Fallen, as the Skiffs took advantage of the chaos and ripped into the disorganized Cabal. The quicker Eliksni vessels would dart down and litter the air with Arc blasts or missiles in bursts, pounding Cabal positions mercilessly.

A Skiff - painted with elegant red and gold patterns over the bronze hull - lowered not far from him - swept down not far from him, joined by another pair of more simplistic designs. One of the Skiffs dropped down a Walker with a heavy clang that resounded throughout the street, and another only stayed long enough for a band of Pikes to detach and blast away with mechanical screams. The Walker didn't move, only activated its weapons, and faced away from the keep. Away from Ikharos.

The painted Skiff remained and extended insect-like legs to gently land. The rear of it opened up for a gang of Fallen armed to the teeth to scurry out and take positions around the vessel. Ikharos met their eyes, but not one tried to kill him. That was more than disconcerting. It took a huge effort to shoot them.

A flurry of motion brought him back to a half-sober state, and Ikharos found himself looking down the barrel of an Arc pistol held by a furious Captain. If looks could kill, Ikharos would be dead a hundred times over.

" _Sha'ir psekiskar,_ " the Captain growled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I see the Cabal empire as a mirror of the Roman empire, which is, I think, what the folks behind Destiny intended them to be. When I say Cabal, I refer to those of the empire in a broad term including the numerous species under the empire's banner. Like Calus said... at one point, not sure, but he said it.
> 
> The Uluru, the dominant species of the empire, are automatically citizens of this empire their ancestors created. Other client species are not, and most are part of a slave caste. However, since the military is the pride and joy of the empire, those who join can receive a full citizenship after a full term of military service. That term being up to two thousand years. Aliens in Destiny can live a looong time. This opportunity is a chance for many a Psion to receive the rights of Uluru, and the army would be only too glad to have the little blighters. A slave-soldier with no hope will fight reluctantly, if they try at all, but if a reward like freedom waits at the end of their career, then they'll be more inclined to serve their overlords faithfully. That's my take on why we don't see widespread Psion desertion in Destiny. That or they have bombs implanted in their skulls, but hey, I'd like there to be a couple rays of sunshine in this grim fictional universe.
> 
> On the Eliksni side of things, they're a very feudalism-orientated culture similar to Europe of the Middle Ages. Kells are like monarchs, Barons are vassals to those Kells similar to lords, Captains are lesser nobles who serve both Kells and Barons, and then there's the other warrior castes that bear similarities. Vandals and Marauders are trained men-at-arms, while Dregs are a general militia made up of commoners. Usually there'd be noncombatants, but I'd doubt that would be the case with the Fallen, considering the state of their civilization.  
> Dregs are sometimes dishonoured warriors. Removing arms is a harsh punishment to endure for already proven warriors, but the Fallen do it ritualistically, likely not only to punish, but to convey loyalty to the House they serve. Most Eliksni will go through it, aside from highborn heirs to aristocrats.
> 
> Wretches, however, are solely those who have committed great acts of dishonour and aren't even allowed a firearm because their shame is so great. Maybe those ranking above the Wretches just don't trust them with a gun.
> 
> Honour is a tricky subject when the culture is based on ruthless pirate aliens, but again I'll draw connections to codes of chivalry. The Eliksni of House Scar had standards, but rules are a bit... iffy. The things knights of old could get away with...
> 
> Suffice to say I enjoy history.


	26. The Duel

Formora waited, sitting as still as she could. The eyes of her guards saw everything. She'd never known any being to be so attentive. They'd waited for hours and they never complained. They stayed quiet, much like her, and did exactly what they were supposed to do. A strange device rested in the corners lit up the chamber and threw monstrous shadows. She couldn't tell the time, only that Ikharos had left not long ago.

She watched them back. Their armour was unique, much like the set Ikharos had gifted her, and of a unusual design. They bore horns of differing shapes, and each wore an abundance of weaponry upon their persons. Their size rivaled that of Urgals, and their leader was easily as large as a Kull. She hadn't seen them fight, but she suspected they were physically powerful creatures. What she _had_ noticed was their speed. Much like Ikharos, these strangers were on terms with her own kind for sheer speed, and all the more dangerous for it. Unlike elves, these were trained warriors, bearing the finest armaments she'd ever seen. Formora prided herself on her own martial ability, but she found herself at a loss on how to duel even one of the creatures before her, even if it were only a swordfight. How does one fight an opponent with four arms?

Only a few hours after Ikharos left she heard what had to be a dozen newcomers march into the cave, though not one reached the chamber she was in. Following that, she caught an ear of the odd roars echoing through the winding reaches of the cave. Whatever it was, her guards didn't seem all that bothered by it.

Moliko arrived not long after, and pointed to her with his sword. " _Da!_ " He ordered. She assumed it meant 'move.'

Formora bristled, but as she had been left completely unarmed, she had little choice. She'd tried probing the minds of her captor earlier, but their thoughts were so foreign, so alien, the attempt left her disorientated and lost, and without having learned a single thing. That route would only end in failure. She did notice one thing, though, and that was the lack of spellcasters. Any and every military group needed someone capable of casting offensive spells and wards. It wasn't a luxury; it was a necessity, and yet the Fallen made without. Formora might have been able to cast spells to break free and disable her captors, but it was just as likely that they would suspect her to be behind the magic and kill her on the spot.

She followed Moliko, assuming they were to return to the larger chamber where the Fallen leader waited, but no, the foreign warrior led her out of the cave and into the open air. The falling sun painted the skies in a bright orange, and the clouds were few and far between. A collection of colossal insects stood about on thin legs all about the rocky hill, and others flew in place above. Their incessant humming filled her sensitive ears unpleasantly, and Formora cast a spell under her breath to lessen the din.

Fallen worked all across the clearing, lifting equipment and carrying it all _into_ the insects. It was then she caught on that they weren't living creatures at all, but in truth metal ships capable of flight. The concept was boggling. And terrifying.

"Human," a deep voice announced from beside her. Formora twirled about, only just noticing the large Fallen beside her. It was as large as the one Ikharos had spoken with earlier, but its helmet bore fantastic wings rather than a fan-shaped crest. The Fallen were unlike anything she'd ever known, but this one's eyes seemed... kinder? The hostile glare she'd received from her captors was absent. "How do you fare?"

"You... speak my language." Formora frowned. "How?"

"It is only words. Mind may learn words." The big Fallen's voice was deep enough to be mistaken for anger, but there was a soft lilt of amusement in there. "You look unhurt, human."

"I'm not a human," Formora defended, a bit too harshly if Moliko's hiss was any indication.

The one who spoke twirled about and sent Moliko scurrying with an unintelligible bark, then turned back to her and dipped his head. "Not human?"

"I am an elf," she corrected, damned be Ikharos' wild claims.

Kiphoris blinked all four eyes at once. "I not know elf. What is elf? Is like twin-souls scarred, or... what is this?" The Fallen pointed to her ears. "Never know human to have sharp-ears."

"That's because I'm not human."

"Elf then." She could hear the smile.

"Who are you?"

"I am Kiphoris, Captain of Scar House. What of you?"

"I am Formora." She continued after a moment's pause. "Of House Rílvenar."

"Ah, you are noble too?"

Formora paused. She hadn't spoken to her family for a long time even before the Wyrdfall. Not since... No, Kíalandi had been her real family. The rest of them were nothing more than people she was supposed to care about, if only because they shared the same family name. "I was," she said softly.

"Ah," Kiphoris nodded, who seemed to understand more than she thought he would. A shadow fell over them both, and Formora almost cast a death spell on instinct, but stopped herself when she found herself staring up at the tallest Fallen she'd seen yet. It was twice as large as the likes of Moliko, perhaps more, and it exuded an aura of strength and absolute authority, only boosted by the broad crests of its helmet, stretching out like two grand horns.

" _Velask,_ " it began in a sonorous voice. If dragons could speak with their breath, Formora imagined they would sound like that. It glanced at her. " _Da yus?_ "

"He asks for name," Kiphoris bowed to the larger Fallen.

"... Formora," she answered hesitantly. The huge creature before her looked powerful enough to rip even the mightiest of Kull limb from limb.

She didn't miss the increasingly familiar smell of Fallen, heavy with this one. They didn't stink like unwashed barbarians, but rather had an almost pleasant smell of a metallic sweetness. They seemingly took great care of their armour and weaponry, because it all shone brilliantly. Even their cloaks, if tattered, were washed and unstained. _They are a proud people_ , she'd concluded, _and they know the power they hold._

"Formora," the large creature pointed at her, then to itself. " _Tarrhis-Mrelliks._ "

"He is Tarrhis, Baron of Scar House," Kiphoris helpfully translated.

" _Da kenre aga?_ " Tarrhis pointed to one of the ships, marginally larger than the others and painted with flowing designs by an expert hand.

"He demands you join him on his Skiff. He will talk."

"Where will he be going?" Formora asked.

"The human city. Cabal are as... weakened animals. We will fight them and win." Kiphoris put it so simply that it was hard to argue it as anything but truth.

Tarrhis, without waiting, stalked over to his vessel and slipped inside the hatch behind the heavy abdomen of the ship. Formora didn't dare move - the ship looked to her like a vicious, malevolent scarab. Kiphoris lightly touched her shoulder. "It is not trap," he promised, mistaking the reason behind her hesitation. "Tarrhis' Skiff is armoured. We will be protected."

"Is it alive?" She whispered, eyes trained on the 'Skiff.'

Kiphoris made an unusual clicking noise. "No. It is a machine. Metal and Arc. It is ours."

Formora exhaled and started walking. Other Fallen she passed didn't pay her more than a curious glance, busy as they were. They growled, yipped, and snapped, but they worked perfectly in sync with one another. Each one knew its task and purpose. Formora was impressed by their efficiency, but wary too. Like the Cabal, it wouldn't take many Fallen to pose a threat to the fragile stability of Alagaësia. Then again, it might prod her own people into finally taking matters seriously.

Her line of thought was cut short when she reached the ship. The hatch was large and circular, though there wasn't anything to allow her to merely walk into it. Formora leapt up through the entrance and found herself in a large rectangular chamber lined with inbuilt benches on either side, all of it cast in an orange glow from what appeared to be werelights encased in crystal. Another circular hatch lay at the other end, and through it she could see three other Fallen milling about or sitting in seats that faced before a large glass screen. Tarrhis stood at the end of the rectangular chamber and talked with those in the front. Satisfied, the Baron turned about and braced himself against the wall.

"Formora," he said. " _Ne ra tas Sha'ir. Da zes ta?_ "

Kiphoris rumbled. "Tarrhis-Baron asks to know Light-Thief."

"Light-Thief?" Formora questioned.

" _Ikha Riis._ Sundrass said you travel with him."

Formora nodded slowly. "I did."

"Is he alone?" Kiphoris asked. "Did he come with others? Other Light-Thieves?"

"What is your interest?" She pressed suspiciously. "Why are you even here?"

"It is a matter of honor," the Fallen told her. "We know of him from wars-past. We must know his purpose here, upon this world."

"You want him dead?" Formora ventured. She coiled her grip around the threads of magic. Everything about this gave a dangerous air.

"... Nama." Kiphoris shook his head reluctantly. "Tarrhis-Baron wishes to meet him, as _Ikha Riis_ -Lord slew Taniks-Traitor, who killed Kell of Scar House."

"Ikharos-Lord?"

Kiphoris' inner eyes narrowed. "Yes, he... Ah. You did not arrive with him? You are of this world." When Formora didn't reply, the Fallen continued, taking her silence as a confirmation. " _Ikha Riis_ was freelance Kell, who fought other Kells for land and resource. He killed other Light-Thieves. It is well known."

"He's a lord?" She asked curiously. It made some sense, considering quality of his armour and weaponry. Humans in places of authority hoarded such things. Still, she never saw the Risen as someone from a noble family.

Kiphoris nodded. " _Eia_ _,_ was. Freelance-Kell, then gave up land to join other Light-Thieves to serve Great Machine. You do not know this?"

"I know some of it from what he told me." Something just didn't add up, though. "You're going through all this just to speak with him?"

" _Eia._ " She supposed that was the Fallen word for 'yes.'

"That Fallen, Sundrass, sent-"

Kiphoris growled. "Not Fallen."

"Pardon?" Formora asked quietly.

"We are not Fallen. Is Light-Thief word. We are Eliksni, proud and strong."

"... Eliksni." It was a more appropriate - and less insulting - title for an entire race than 'Fallen.'

" _Eia._ And we have heard of Sundrass' trick. He now fights Cabal, weakens them. Tarrhis will direct us, we Scars, to fight them too. Light-Thief has weakened them. And Cabal have weakened the Light-Thief..." Kiphoris trailed off. Tarrhis growled something, to which the smaller Eliksni responded in his own animalistic roar.

Other Eliksni piled into the ship, chattering to themselves and carrying as many weapons as they possibly could. Following them was what she could only describe as a huge metal eye that warbled and whirred to itself. Formora flinched when its gaze swept over her. It was just her luck to get caught up in a foreign invasion as soon as she returned to Alagaësia.

**000**

There were times Ikharos felt were the universe's way of keeping him on his toes. After all he'd witnessed over the course of three long centuries, he'd figured he'd seen everything, but somehow, something new was right around the corner, ready to throw his self-assured attitude out the airlock. Fallen used to be the cause of it, but they'd stopped being original after Twilight Gap broke their offensive. Sure, the Wolf Uprising and the Siva Crisis were new, but the Fallen had no other tricks up their sleeves.

Even so, a Captain stopping to _talk_ to him was unusual, Mithrax notwithstanding, even if it was just to convey its hatred. He knew Fallen and they knew him. He and the Devils always had a special relationship that needed no words. Scars, however, were a new element. He didn't know what to think of them, aside from the awful cloaks. He hated the red so much. That damn colour had taken away too many good people.

"Light-Thief," the irate Captain snarled again, this time in English aided by a high-quality synthesizer. _That_ was Ikharos' second surprise.

"Fallen," the Warlock replied, unperturbed by the threat of his imminent demise. Death had long since lost its charm.

"You are murderer."

"I am," Ikharos admitted. He didn't care to lie. It wasn't who he was. "But you'll have to be more exact. I've killed a lot of people."

"You know-meaning!" The Captain roared.

"I really don't. If you mean Scars, then you'll be disappointed, because I just _met_ your people. I haven't even had the chance to-" The Captain ripped off his own helmet, revealing his plumage of blue bristles running down his head. Ikharos' eyes widened. "Ah. You're the Wolf." He smiled to himself. "Now that's just fitting."

The Captain re-equipped his helm. "You slaughter mine-kin!"

"They killed people!" Ikharos shot back, his voice fueled by a sudden, broiling anger. "Your kind turned on the Reef and stabbed the Awoken in the back! They took you in, gave you a home, and you killed them for it!"

"Don't dare-speak of matters you know nothing," the Captain warned. "You are Light-Thief! You have no brothers or sisters in Awoken!"

"Are you going to shoot me or not? You know as well as I do, Wolf, that no matter what happens, the end result will be the same."

"I will not beg." The Wolf's eyes narrowed.

"That would be weird, wouldn't it? You're the one holding the gun. No, I don't expect you to beg. I wouldn't care if you did. I don't care about you. I don't care about your new House." Ikharos bit out every single word. "All I want is to keep my people safe. If I were you, I'd fly as far from here as I could. You'll live longer."

"I will not flee. I am no coward."

"Coward or not, you keep pushing that gun into my face and there won't be a body to bury."

"You are a monster."

Ikharos scowled. "Tell me, then, how my actions were unwarranted. Devils kill my people, Kings put a bounties on my friends, Winter attack our supply lines, and Wolves murder our allies."

"You are an enemy to all Eliksni. And you will face the-"

As quick as lightning, Formora was there, and in a flash had tugged a second pistol from the Captain's belt. She aimed the clunky Arcarm at the Fallen's head, loosing that pissed-off glare Ikharos had always thought was reserved solely for him. "Don't," she warned.

Both Ikharos and Captain stared at her. A moment passed before Ikharos cleared his bone-dry throat. "Formora?"

"What?" She snapped, her eyes trained on the Captain.

"You've got to, uh-"

"Quiet!" The Captain snarled. He turned his four eyes onto Formora and spoke in almost flawless English, "Stay away. This is a matter of honour!"

Other Fallen had begun to gather around them, many with weapons raised, though not one fired on Formora. They didn't know humans, so if Formora survived even a second after being hit, she might kill their Captain. They held their fire and whispered to one another in hushed clicks and hisses.

A sudden bark grasped all their attention. Ikharos glanced past the Captain, watching as a colossal Fallen more than twice as tall as a human person marched towards them. The big guy had to be a Baron, or even a Kell, especially with that majestic helmet. It's glare, oddly enough, was settled on the Captain rather than Ikharos. The Warlock wasn't used to that; usually Guardians were the object of Fallen contempt. He couldn't imagine why.

Ikharos grasped at what dregs of Void remained, grimacing when all he felt were little sparks of nothingness. His Lumina was close but he didn't know if it had any bullets loaded. His best option was his sword, but the moment he moved the Captain could fire. Fallen were always too damned fast.

The Baron stomped his way to them, hefting a Shrapnel launcher with two hands. The big guy bellowed at the Captain in a dangerously low voice. Ikharos noticed Formora flinch out of the corner of his vision, but she didn't back down. She was brave to do so, but it was ultimately a foolish endeavour. Ikharos had seen Devils eviscerate people with their claws faster than the human eye could follow. The Captain wasn't fazed in the slightest. The bastard knew full well what he was capable of.

" _Nama!_ " The Baron yelled, far louder than was necessary. Ikharos' ears rang uncomfortably. " _Bas fre sha!_ "

With a final growl at Ikharos, the Captain lowered his Arcarm and stepped back. The Baron grabbed the Captain's shoulder and forcefully shoved him back in the direction of the Skiff, muttering something inaudible. The big guy then turned his stern four-eyed gaze upon Ikharos.

Formora shrugged, lowered her stolen pistol, and crouched beside Ikharos. Xiān fearlessly materialized beside her.

"Where's my knife?" Ikharos whispered to her. "I need it, quickly!"

Formora found it in its sheath. Ikharos didn't remember putting it there, though everything had been such a blur. The elf gave it to him, sending him a questioning look, but he couldn't tell her at that moment. He lifted both knife and Orúm, his left arm aching with the effort, and then crossed them to form an _irellis_ bow. Each Fallen held their breath and watched in awestruck silence. Ikharos placed the knife on the ground, blade pointed towards him, and splayed the fingers of his free hand in a gesture of supplication.

The Baron approached and knelt down, eyes darting between the Warlock and the knife. Finally, he brought a clawed fist against his his golden cuirass. " _Tarrhis-Mrelliks pak Denaan._ "

" _Ikha Riis,_ " Ikharos replied. He didn't give voice to the derogative title given to him by the Devils. " _Vel, Tarrhis-Mrelliks pak Denaan._ "

" _Velask, Ikha Riis._ " The Baron looked about, and grunted with surprise when he saw the corpse of the tusked Uluru. Tarrhis rose back up. " _Ra fre. En dir._ "

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Psekisk."

Xiān floated down beside him and spoke directly to Formora. "He's got internal bleeding, a concussion, and metal fragments embedded in his arm," Xiān reported. "I can deal with the metal, but we don't have the means to stop the bleeding. Cytogel only works on external wounds." She paused. "Scipio gave us medical supplies, but recovery nanites won't work. Guardian immune systems are hyperactive - the nanites would be eliminated before they could do anything. We usually rely on Light, but we've burned out."

"He's vulnerable," Formora realized, speaking softly. "Mortal."

"Um..."

"You're fortunate I need you." The elf muttered. "Where's the wound?"

"Here." Xiān used a brief laser to point to a ragged spot at Ikharo' midriff. It tingled, like a painfully intense version of pins and needles.

Formora placed her hand against the area. Ikharos groaned and gritted his teeth - it hurt like hell. " _Heill du mïnen undir du hamr,_ " she said.

The pain instantly dulled and flowed away, and Ikharos found he could breathe far easier. His relief was instantaneous and he smiled weakly. "Thanks," he said.

Formora nodded ever so slightly. "A concussion?"

"Whacked his head against the wall," Xiān explained. She looked over to another spot a few feet away, where a small crater had been smashed into the stonework. "Cracked the casing in his helmet."

Formora stared at the huge Uluru's corpse. "I wouldn't be surprised… "

" _Hulunkles?_ " The Baron asked again, standing over them.

" _Nama dir,_ " Ikharos told him.

" _Rhahaha,_ " the huge Fallen chuckled. " _Eia, nama dir._ "

Ikharos eyed the nearby Fallen nervously and lurched to his feet. Formora offered her support, which he gladly accepted. His sense of balance had deserted him. "This is... not ideal."

"They haven't killed us yet."

"Torture it is."

She glared at him. "Now is not the time to jest."

Ikharos exhaled. "I'm getting loopy. I'll pin that on the blood loss. Besides," he whispered, "I'm only half joking."

"You need rest," Xiān told him. "If these guys can be reasoned with, we might just be able to make it out of this city."

" _Ner bo hus!_ " The Baron roared to his troops. Ikharos stiffened as the Fallen raiding party yipped and began running, separating into roving bands. He _hated_ that sound.

"What did you do?" Formora demanded.

"I requested an armistice. That should shut the Wolf up. Fallen and their damn honour codes..." Ikharos scoffed. "It _might_ let us survive this mess. We just need time."

"How long do you need?"

"If we were in Sol, a few minutes. Here? Days. Nothing less than a full Super will give us enough distance to make a getaway."

"You don't like them."

"I'm not overly fond, is all." He looked about. "Whatever happens, don't let them draw-"

" _Ikha Riis!_ "

"Nevermind." Ikharos sucked in a deep breath and met the hard gaze of the Baron. " _Eia?_ "

" _Da Eliksni hus dis?_ " The Baron asked.

" _Hus Mraskilaasan zes dir bo,_ " the Warlock replied. " _Nama hus Kalakhselen._ "

" _Eia?_ "

" _Eia. Bas das dir. Ze nan?_ "

" _Ze nan._ " Tarrhis motioned to a trio of those Fallen who remained to watch the Warlock. They approached, armed with shock rifles primed to fire, and they looked mean. They didn't know what he was, exactly, but they knew he was dangerous. " _Ra fre._ "

"Weapons," Ikharos told his companion. "Give them back the gun. And mine. Xiān, out of sight."

The Ghost withdrew from view, to the surprised yelps of their captors. They barked at Ikharos, but he didn't budge, not even deigning to explain _why_ his 'Servitor' had disappeared. Formora handed over the shock pistol and the Lumina, and Orúm and the Hunter knife followed soon after. One of the Vandals carried it all, and the other moved behind the two prisoners, rifle raised.

"What now?" The elf asked quietly.

"Just hope the Cabal don't turn this around."

* * *

In truth, all that remained was a mop up. The Cabal, as every veteran from the Martian front knew, were a wall of metal and muscle, but break their formations and their rigid order fell apart far too easily. Their fight with Ikharos had forced their gaze inwards - and the Risen had destroyed more than his fair share. With the Fallen Skiffs sweeping in a loss for the armoured giants was all but assured.

It was karmic justice that the Cabal were so blatantly humiliated by those they underestimated at every turn. Those that didn't fall back with their tails between their legs were cornered by Fallen gangs, and those who resisted were quickly put down. Considering the bullheaded nature of Cabal, not many surrendered. Ikharos was surprised any of them would. Surely they knew as well as he did that prisoners of the Fallen didn't last long.

Which threw his own dilemma into question. Before the battle had even been finished, Ikharos and Formora had been escorted to the eastern side of the city, which the Scars had already secured from the resident legion. There, the elf treated his concussion with hushed spells that left him light-headed. When the pain in his arm became a dulled throb, he knew his Ghost had transmatted the metal fragments away. Only hours later, when Skiffs flew above the city uncontested and the firefights below had died down, did their guards bring them to the keep.

It would have once been an impressive feat of architecture, but in the battle's aftermath the seat of Ceunon's power was a sorry thing. Walls had been smashed open, the portcullis gate was nothing more than rubble, and a lonely Harvester burned in the courtyard, surrounded by its deceased crew. Fallen scurried about, some marred by injuries, but for the most part it had been a clear victory in their favour. It wouldn't last, Ikharos decided. Cabal weren't the sort to take a defeat like that lying down. They'd retaliate, or try to anyhow.

For the first time in months Ikharos encountered other human beings, Formora aside. They were few and far between, but there were the staff who worked at the keep and the other prisoners kept by the Cabal. Now they were lorded over by gruff Fallen. It wasn't necessarily a better situation.

Those servants stared, wide-eyed, at everything around them with fearful expressions. When they saw Ikharos, one or two physically recoiled. He couldn't blame them. He looked like a wreck, covered in scorch marks, bullet holes, and dried blood. His guards moved him along without even giving him a chance to get a word in, through the keep's entrance and into the grand hall, still pristine and untouched save for the rare corpse. Tables lined the centre of the room, and unfamiliar banners hung on the walls alongside the skulls of hunting trophies. Tarrhis waited at the other end, standing on a dais where Ikharos assumed the local aristocrat received his guests, and appraised a Cabal shotgun in the bright torchlight. Other Fallen paced about or tinkered with their equipment, and those of higher rank presented other spoils of war to their leader. An unremarkable Vandal stood to the Baron's side, clutching something in his arms.

"Tarrhis-Baron!" One of the Vandals with Ikharos announced in low Eliksni. "We bring the Light-Thief!"

The room went quiet and each pirate stared at Ikharos. The Baron put the shotgun aside and nodded. "Ah, _Ikha Riis. Velask._ "

" _Velask,_ " Ikharos greeted stiffly.

"I have not encountered many two-armed humans, I admit, and none of them speak mine-language. Except for you. How is this?"

"I've... known of Eliksni for a long time. A scribe of House Judgement helped me refine my speech."

"Judgement? I thought them shattered." Tarrhis stepped back and sat on the body of a dead Uluru soldier like it was a throne. "Name the scribe."

"Variks, the Loyal."

"I do not know the name, though I did not know many of Judgement's banner," Tarrhis commented flippantly. Ikharos started to get a read on the Baron; he was a creature of glory and honour. His ornate armour bore marks of battle, and he carried weapons with an easy familiarity - an old warrior. "This scribe must have taught you our ways. It has been some time since any performed the _irellis_ bow." Tarrhis gave a pointed look to one of his Captains. The Wolf bowed down and held out his arms to signify his humility. Even so, the bastard managed to send a split-second glance in Ikharos' direction to show just how deep his grudge went.

"Some. I gathered most of it through exposure."

"I have heard claims you fought with other banners. Is this true?"

"... Yes." He couldn't think of anything else to say, and to weave a lie would be instantly disputed by the Wolf. That Captain might be enduring the Baron's disfavour, but he was still more valuable to them than Ikharos.

"And I have heard claims that you stole the Great Machine's blessings, twisted its power to your own ends. Is this true?"

"No," Ikharos responded hotly. "No, that is not true!" He glared at the Wolf. "What would you know about the Great Machine's blessings?" He demanded angrily.

The Wolf rose up, rolling his four shoulders. "Your kind, the thieves, robbed us of our-"

"I was too dead to steal anything! The Great Machine chose people to protect it and provided them with power, nothing else!"

"Your people hoarded it! You kept our god from us, lured it away so that the Hive could destroy our home!"

"It was the complete other way around! The Hive didn't invade because the Machine left, the Machine left because the Hive were going to invade! They've been chasing it for millennia!"

The Wolf growled. Before he could retort, however, Tarrhis bellowed. "Enough!" He looked between the two. "This is a grievous claim indeed, _Ikha Riis._ "

"I was promised, by Sundrass, that if I freed her scouts we could walk free," he tiredly pointed out.

The Captain in question spoke up. "You did not free them all. Muerniks is dead. Mine-promise is as dust plucked by a gale."

"The Cabal killed him before I got there."

"You should have been faster," Sundrass replied harshly.

"And you shouldn't have sent your scouts into Cabal territory!" Ikharos snapped.

Sundrass bristled and drew a blade. "How dare you-"

"I said enough!" Tarrhis ordered. "I command here, and I say none will die until my decision is reached." He refocused on Ikharos. "You have been accused of mighty crimes. What do you say to them?"

The Warlock took a breath and tried to calm himself. "All I've done, all I do, is to protect my people. We've been hit hard. I just want to preserve what we have left. I haven't stolen the Great Machine's Light, you can be sure of that."

"There is little reason to believe you," Tarrhis began. Ikharos was in the midst of asking for handful of grenades from Xiān when the Baron resumed speaking. "Aside from one which Kiphoris-Veskirisk agrees upon. It is said you slew Taniks, the one who named himself Freelance Kell."

Ikharos held his head high and stubbornly met the Baron's glowing eyes. "... I did. What of it? Was he a friend of yours?"

Tarrhis rumbled deeply. "No, far from a friend. He was a traitor to all of Scar banner. You did mine-House an honour by killing him."

"Not quite enough to let me go, I suppose."

Tarrhis' eyes brightened with amusement. "Not quite."

"Let her go." Ikharos gestured to the elf, who didn't understand a single word being said. "She's not involved in any of this."

"He will kill us all if we have nothing to threaten him with," Sundrass argued.

"No," the Wolf, Kiphoris said suddenly. "If he had Light, he would have broken free by now." The Captain's voice rose as he grew ever more confident. "He has nothing left. He used it all on the Cabal. We should kill him now!"

Ikharos glowered. "You _psekiskar!_ "

"I have reached mine-verdict!" Tarrhis announced. All attention diverted to the Baron. "Kiphoris is a Scar now." Tarrhis voiced each word with careful deliberation, looking around the room. "I trust him with mine-life. I trust him to guard our Kell. I trust him to speak the truth. However, it would be his truth, and I would be foolish to ignore the truths of the stranger before us. _Ikha Riis_ _,_ your words may be false, but your actions have spoken for you. Sundrass did make you a promise, and I would not be so quick to throw it aside." Tarrhis gave her a sidelong glare. "You have slain Taniks, of whom I have long since wished dead. These give you a measure of credence. As such, both of you are valued. _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ and _Ikha Riis_ shall settle this in the old ways." The Baron leaned forward eagerly. "By right of sword."

The hall was filled with approving chitters from the gathered Fallen.

"In Elder Days, Kells would make their case through the strength of their sword arms under the gaze of the Great Machine," Tarrhis continued. "Neither of you are Kells, and the Great Machine is not here, but you are both warriors of caliber and it is my gaze which will rest upon you."

" _Tarrhis-Mrelliks!_ " Sundrass called out. She pointed at Ikharos. "We have seen his power! Even a fraction of it may mean certain victory! By the law of duel, both combatants must fight on even ground!"

"Of course," Tarrhis dipped his horned head. "Set warriors armed with wire rifles on the walls. If the human uses the power of the Great Machine, then he will shot dead. But," at this he deepened his voice, "Kiphoris must set aside his shield and warp generator. There will be no trickery, through Light or machine, to decide this matter. What say you, fighters?"

"I accept," Kiphoris growled.

Ikharos sighed and shrugged. "Fine."

Tarrhis stood, his great frame towering over everything else. His helmet almost scraped the ceiling. "Clear a space!"

Ikharos' guards moved aside and tugged Formora with them. A third bowed and presented Orúm to him hilt first. He took it gladly. A quick look confirmed that Kiphoris was being prepared by a duo of his own underlings. They took his cloak and carefully bundled it up, and stepped back as the Captain drew twin shock blades. He activated the switches in the hilts, and the blades crackled loudly with Arc.

"Dammit," Ikharos muttered. He drew his purple longsword and tossed aside the sheath, and he assumed a side stance, holding the weapon firmly in both hands.

"To death or surrender, those are the terms," Tarrhis told them. The Baron looked positively excited.

Ikharos kept his eyes on his opponent, but he was painfully aware of all the wire rifles audibly charging up. He wouldn't be able to escape the sharpshooters without a Blink, and that would only get him so far. His only consolation was that he was confident in his own physical prowess, to some degree, and that there was a chance the Baron would keep his word. If he survived, that was.

Kiphoris moved first and without warning, closing the distance between them in a sudden burst of movement. Ikharos only just managed to dip away from the initial strike, but the Captain was experienced, and he redirected the power behind the missed blow into a second attack. Ikharos jumped back from one of the swords, but the trap had been set and the second blade swept in low towards his ribs. The Warlock brought his sword down to block it, and when the blades crossed, he yelped as Arc surged through the weapons and into him.

Ikharos shoved back, and Kiphoris leapt away from the half-hearted counterattack and began to circle the Warlock. Ikharos kept his front facing towards the Captain, recognizing the Wolf stance. When the Captain attempted to surprise him with a sudden thrust, he was ready and parried it expertly. The Wolf's eyes widened.

"Yeah," Ikharos grunted in English. "I've learned."

"From murder!" Kiphoris snapped back in the same tongue.

"From war. I'm just a soldier, like they were. You know that. Every one of your kind knows that. This isn't about them."

"It is of honour!" The Fallen threw himself wholeheartedly against Ikharos' desperate defense, swiping with all the wild fury of a bloodthirsty Devil.

"No, this is something else." Ikharos locked one of the swords against Orúm's guard, almost paralyzed with sudden agony, and used the bracer of his left hand to deflect the other weapon. The Ahamkara feathers held and, fortunately for him, absorbed the influx of Arc hungrily. "You know me. How?"

Kiphoris didn't answer for a moment as he pulled back. They both watched one another carefully for the next sign of an attack. Finally, the Captain growled. "I saw you tear through my kin!"

"Mars?"

"The home of the screaming machines!" With a roar Kiphoris lunged towards him, swords pointed forward. He intended to skewer the Warlock.

Ikharos was hard pressed to raise his guard against a two-pronged attack like that, so he tried to sidestep it, but the Captain had anticipated it. One of Kiphoris' lower arms snagged on Ikharos' robes and pulled on the resilient cloth, simultaneously slamming the guard of a sword against the side of the Guardian's helmet. Ikharos' vision went white for a moment, and afterwards he saw stars. He felt, too late, himself being lifted up and then slammed down on a table. Wood cracked and splintered beneath the force. Ikharos groaned and, miraculously, was able to lift up his longsword to block the two blades suddenly descending upon him.

The force of the strike was phenomenal, and his muscles burned and spasmed as Kiphoris pushed down ever harder with his electrified weapons.

"You were... at... the Citadel..." Ikharos hissed through clenched teeth. Oh, it _hurt_ _._ He could still hear the crowd of Scars cheering in the background, but he zoned it out.

"Yessss." The Captain put all his weight onto his swords in an attempt to crush the human.

Ikharos curled up one leg and planted his foot against the Captain's chest and pushed hard. The Fallen stumbled back, and it gave the Guardian enough time to find his footing again before the fight resumed.

"Everything died there," he argued and made his first attack, an uppercut swipe that bounced off the Fallen's block.

"Not I." Kiphoris pushed forward, bracing their swords against each other. The Captain's head was only inches away from Ikharos' own.

"What we didn't kill the Vex did!" In a savage turn, Ikharos brought his leg about and kicked the side of the Fallen's right leg as hard as he could, shattering the knee joint. The Captain yowled and, taking advantage of the brief distraction, Ikharos slipped free of the sword lock with a flourish and struck the longsword against the wrist of one of Kiphoris' sword hands. While he didn't cut the limb off, he achieved what he wanted when the shock blade dropped from numbed fingers. The cheers died away.

Ikharos retracted his bloodied weapon and began his own assault, striking with as much force as he could muster. There was no fancy footwork or sleek movements, only brute force, and despite the pain of Arc he kept going until the remaining shock blade - held up to ward away the downward swipes - shattered and Orúm planted into the stone floor. A thin, shallow slice across the Captain's chest began to trickle blood the colour of wine, left by the tip of the Rider's blade. The armour had done nothing to stop the blow.

"Abandoned to their madness." Kiphoris glared up at Ikharos from where he knelt, features contorted into a snarl.

"You fell," Ikharos realized, muttering, "Into the Vex Network."

His knee cracked against the Captain's helmet with a crunch, sending the Fallen sprawling. Ikharos approached slowly, planted a boot onto the Captain's chest to keep him down, but it was clear Kiphoris was beaten. The Fallen weakly howled back up at him, eyes growing dim with pain.

"I remember," Ikharos muttered, only loud enough for Kiphoris to hear. "I remember I tossed you aside. I didn't even look." He held Orúm in both hands angled downwards, and ignoring the startled cries of the spectating Scars, he thrust downwards as hard as he could.

The blade lodged in the floor an inch away from the Captain's neck.

"Give up," the Warlock demanded, his voice devoid of vitality.

"You should past-killed me, Light-Thief," Kiphoris whispered darkly.

"Don't tempt me, Fallen."

"Why?!" The pirate demanded. "Finish it!"

"I'm a soldier. I kill when I have to, when war demands it. This isn't war. This is just petty."

Kiphoris growled. For a moment, Ikharos thought he'd have to kill the stubborn bastard, but then the Captain spoke in Eliksni for all to hear. "You have victory, _Ikha Riis._ My accusations are… are void."

Ikharos tugged his sword free and stepped back. He could barely stand straight. Arc still pulsed unpleasantly within him. It was a nasty sensation. He constantly felt like he was about to throw up, and his extremities tingled intensely.

A roar grabbed his attention. Tarrhis approached slowly, a living powerhouse that, at that very moment, could dispatch Ikharos without expending a breath. No one else said a word. Finally, the Baron raised a hand and said, "The matter is settled. And has been done so honourably. The human is innocent. His freedom is guaranteed by me, and if any contests this judgement, they face my blade." A pause. "Splicers, tend to these warriors. They fought admirably."

Ikharos retreated after that; or rather, he tried to. The loose circle once cleared for the fight dissolved as Scars approached, and the Warlock barely restrained himself from turning on those within reach. There were just too many of them. A sea of Fallen, and he was drowning in panic. His only lifeline was a warm orb within his mind, a second consciousness full of support and sympathy.

Formora appeared by his side. "Is it done?"

"We're free," Ikharos answered. "They won't bother us anymore."

"What of the city?"

"I don't know. And, right now, I don't care." A weariness had descended upon him, and Ikharos found he was so hungry and thirsty he could barely speak. It was similar to what he felt during the Lightless days of the Red War: mortal. _Alive._ And he didn't like it one bit. "Let's just leave."

"You'll die on your feet," Formora sternly told him. "You need to recuperate."

"We'll find a place outside the city."

"No we won't." The elf grabbed his arm and pulled him along through the crowd. Fallen moved quickly out of their way. "You're going to rest, and I'll gather supplies. If you're so set on it, we'll leave on the morrow."

" _I'm starting to like her._ "

Ikharos didn't have the energy left to argue. He scarcely remembered them moving through the keep, listening in to a quiet conversation between Formora and one of the castle servants, who talked in a terrified tone, and entering a room lavished with luxuries. The only thing he was looking for was a bed, and the moment his head hit the silk pillow, he was out for the count.

**000**

Cadon awoke feeling cold. That was bad. If his time in the legions had taught him anything, it was that pain meant he was still alive. Numbness was a reason to worry.

It was too dark to see anything and the visor on his helmet was cracked. His HUD was blank. He hoped the fall hadn't damaged anything beyond repair. Supplies were too limited, though, at that moment, it shouldn't have been his greatest concern. He couldn't even feel his brothers.

Cadon tried standing up, but a solid wall of stone lay over him, and he was not like Uluru - he couldn't lift it up. He tried fiddling with the radio on his chest, but one of his arms wouldn't move, though whether it was pinned or broken he didn't know. Cadon thought about using the black oil to alleviate the numbness and heal whatever injuries he sustained... until he remembered he'd used it to slow his fall.

With his other hand he clutched the radio and tried switching it on. It crackled and died away with a slow whine.

"Not like this!" He hissed furiously. His legs were miraculously fine and he tried to brace them against something, anything in this little pocket amidst the rubble. When he caught a grip, he pushed up and forward with his shoulder. It didn't budge. He tried again and again and again, and had been about to give up when the collapsed wall over him was flung away, and daylight streamed in. Heavy hands reached down to lift him out, and Cadon released a shaky breath.

His panic returned tenfold when the glowing eyes of Eliksni met his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks Nomad Blue!


	27. Escape

The first things Eragon noticed was that he was warm and dry, his cheek was pressed against rough fabric, and his hands were unbound. He stirred, but it was minutes before he was able to push himself upright and examine his surroundings. He was sitting in a cell on a narrow, bumpy cot. A barred window was set high in the wall. The iron-bound door with a small window in its top half, barred like the one in the wall, was shut securely.

Dried blood cracked on Eragon's face when he moved. It took him a moment to remember that it was not his. His head hurt horribly - which was to be expected, considering the blow he had taken - and his mind was strangely fuzzy. He tried to use magic, but could not concentrate well enough to remember any of the ancient words. _They must have drugged me,_ he finally decided.

With a groan he got up, missing the familiar weight of Zar'roc on his hip, and lurched to the window in the wall. He managed to see out of it by standing on his toes. It took him a minute for his eyes to adjust to the bright light outside. The window was level with the ground. A street full of busy people ran past the side of his cell, beyond which were rows of identical log houses.

Feeling weak, Eragon slid to the floor and stared at it blankly. What he had seen outside disturbed him, but he was unsure why. Cursing his sluggish thinking, he leaned back his head and tried to clear his mind. A man entered the room and set a tray of food and a pitcher of water on the cot. _Wasn't that nice of him?_ Eragon thought, smiling pleasantly. He took a couple of bites of the thin cabbage soup and stale bread, but was barely able to stomach it. _I wish he had brought me something better,_ he complained, dropping the spoon.

He suddenly realized what was wrong. _I was captured by Urgals, not men! How did I end up here?!_ His befuddled brain grappled with the paradox unsuccessfully. With a mental shrug he filed the discovery away for a time when he would know what to do with it.

He sat on the cot and gazed into the distance. Hours later more food was brought in. _And I was just getting hungry,_ he thought thickly. This time he was able to eat without feeling sick. When he finished, he decided it was time for a nap. After all, he was on a bed; what else was he going to do?

His mind drifted off; sleep began to envelop him. Then a gate clanged open somewhere, and the din of steel-shod boots marching on a stone floor filled the air. The noise grew loud and louder until it sounded like someone banging a pot inside Eragon's head. _Can't they let me rest in peace?_ Fuzzy curiosity slowly overcame his exhaustion, so he dragged himself to the door, blinking like an owl.

Through the window he saw a wide hallway nearly ten yards across. The opposing wall was lined with cells similar to his own. A column of soldiers marched through the hall, their swords drawn and ready. Every man was dressed in matching armour; their faces bore the same hard expression, and their feet came down on the floor with a professional precision, never missing a beat. The sound was hypnotic. It was an impressive display of force.

Eragon watched the soldiers until he grew bored. Just then he noticed a break in the middle of the column. Carried between two burly men was an unconscious woman, and for a moment he feared it was Tellesa, but almost immediately after he saw that it wasn't.

The woman's long midnight-black hair obscured her face, despite a leather strip bound around her head to hold the tresses back. She was dressed in dark leather pants and a shirt. Wrapped around her slim waist was a shiny belt, from which hung an empty scabbard on her right hip. Knee-high boots covered her calves and feet.

Her head lolled to the side. Eragon gasped, feeling like he had been struck in the stomach. She was the woman from his dreams. Her sculpted face was as perfect as a painting. Her round chin, high cheekbones, and long eyelashes gave her an exotic look. The only mar in her beauty was a scrape along her jaw; nevertheless, she was the fairest woman he had ever seen.

Then her hair shifted, revealing pointed ears. A chill crept over him. She was an elf.

The soldiers continued marching, taking her from his sight. Next strode a tall, proud man, a sable cape billowing behind him. His face was deathly white; his hair was red. Red like blood.

As he walked by Eragon's cell, the man turned his head and looked squarely at him with maroon eyes. His upper lip pulled back in a feral smile, revealing teeth filed to points. Eragon shrank back. He knew what the man was. _A Shade. So help me... a Shade._ The procession continued, and the Shade vanished from view.

Eragon sank to the floor, hugging himself. Even in his bewildered state, he knew that the presence of a Shade meant that evil was loose in the land. Whenever they appeared, rivers of blood were sure to follow. _What is a Shade doing here?! The soldiers should have killed him on sight!_ Then his thoughts returned to the elf-woman, and he was grasped by strange emotions again.

 _I have to escape._ But with his mind clouded, his determination quickly faded. He returned to the cot. By the time the hallway fell silent, he was fast asleep.

* * *

As soon as Eragon opened his eyes, he knew something was different. It was easier for him to think; he realized that he was in Gil'ead. _They made a mistake; the drug's wearing off!_ Hopeful, he tried to contact Saphira and use magic, but both activities were still beyond his reach. A pit of worry twisted inside him as he wondered if she and the others had managed to escape. He stretched his arms and looked out the window. The city was just awakening; the street outside was empty except for two beggars.

He reached for the water pitcher, ruminating about the elf and Shade. As he started to drink, he noticed that the water had a faint odor, as if it contained a few drops of rancid perfume. Grimacing, he set the pitcher down. _The drug must be in there and maybe in the food as well._ He remembered that when the Ra'zac had drugged him, it had taken hours to wear off. _If I can keep from drinking and eating long enough, I should be able to use magic. Then I can rescue the elf._ The thought made him smile. He sat in a corner, dreaming about how it could be done.

A portly jailer entered the cell an hour later with a tray of food. Eragon waited until he departed, then carried the tray to the window. The meal was composed only of bread, cheese, and an onion, but the smell made his stomach grumble hungrily. Resigning himself to a miserable day, he shoved out the window and onto the street, hoping that no one would notice.

Eragon devoted himself to overcoming the drug's effects. He had difficulty concentrating for any length of time, but as the day progressed, his mental acuity increased. He began to remember several of the ancient words, though nothing happened when he uttered them. He wanted to scream with frustration.

When lunch was delivered, he pushed it out the window after his breakfast. His hunger was distracting, but it was the lack of water that taxed him most. The back of his throat was parched. Thoughts of drinking cool water tortured him as each breath dried his mouth and throat a bit more. Even so, he forced himself to ignore the pitcher.

He was diverted from his discomfort by a commotion in the hall. A man argued in a loud voice, "You can't go in there! The orders were clear: no one is to see him!"

"Really? Will you be the one to die stopping me, Captain?" A smooth voice cut in.

There was a subdued, "No... but the king-"

" _I_ will handle the king," interrupted the second speaker. "Now, unlock the door."

After a pause, keys jangled outside Eragon's cell. He tried to adopt a languorous expression. _I have to act like I don't understand what's going on. I can't show surprise, no matter what this person says._

The door opened. His breath caught as he looked into the Shade's face. It was like gazing at a death mask or a polished skull with skin pulled over it to give the appearance of life. "Greetings," the Shade said with a cold smile. "I've waited a long time to meet you."

"Who- who're you?" Eragon asked, slurring his words.

"No one of consequence," the Shade answered, his maroon eyes alight with controlled menace. He sat with a flourish of his cloak. "My name does not matter to one in your position. It wouldn't mean a thing to you anyway. It's you that I'm interested in. Who are you?"

The question was posed innocently enough, but Eragon knew there had to be a catch or a trap in it, though it eluded him. He pretended to struggle over the question for a while, then said slowly, "I'm not sure... M'name's Eragon, but that's not all I am, is it?"

The Shade's narrow lips stretched tautly over his sharpened teeth as he laughed. "No, it isn't. You have an interesting mind, my young Rider." He leaned forward. The skin on his forehead was thin and translucent. "It seems I must be more direct. What is your name?"

"Era-"

"No! Not that one." The Shade cut him off with a wave of his and. "Don't you have another one, one that you use only rarely?"

 _He wants my true name so he can control me! But I can't tell him. I don't even know it myself._ Eragon thought quickly, trying to invent a deception that would conceal his ignorance. _What if I made up a name?_ He hesitated - it could easily give him away - then raced to create a name that would withstand scrutiny. As he was about to utter it, he decided to take a chance and try to scare the Shade. He deftly switched a few letters, then nodded foolishly and said, "Brom told it to me once. It was..." The pause stretched for a few seconds, then his face brightened as he appeared to remember. "It was Du Súndavar Freohr." Which meant almost literally, "Death of the shadows."

A grim chill settled over the cell as the Shade sat motionless, eyes veiled. He seemed to be deep in thought, pondering what he had learned. Eragon wondered if he had dared too much. He waited until the Shade stirred before asking ingeniously, "Why are you here?"

The Shade looked at him with contempt in his red eyes and smiled. "To gloat, of course. What use is victory if one cannot enjoy it?" There was a confidence in his voice, yet he seemed uneasy, as if his plans had been disrupted. He stood suddenly. "I must attend to certain matters, but while I am gone you would do well to think on who you would rather serve: a Rider who betrayed your own order or a fellow like me, skilled in the arcane arts. When the time comes to choose, there will be no middle ground." He turned to leave, then glanced at Eragon's water pitcher and stopped, his face granite hard. "Captain!" He snapped.

A broad-shouldered man rushed into the cell, sword in hand. "What is it, my lord?" He asked, alarmed.

"Put that toy away," the Shade instructed. He hasn't been drinking his water. Why is that?"

"I talked with the jailer earlier. Every bowl and plate was scraped clean."

"Very well," the Shade said, mollified. "But make sure that he starts drinking again." He leaned toward the captain and muttered into his ear. Eragon caught the last few words, "... extra dose, just in case." The captain nodded. The Shade returned his attention to Eragon. "We will talk again tomorrow when I am not so pressed for time. You should know, I have an endless fascination for names. I will greatly enjoy discussing yours in _much_ greater detail."

The way he said it gave Eragon a sinking feeling.

Once they left, he lay on the cot and closed his eyes. Brom's lessons proved their worth now; he relied on them to keep himself from panicking and to reassure himself. _Everything has been provided for me; I only have to take advantage of it._ His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of approaching soldiers.

Apprehensive, he went to the door and saw two soldiers dragging the elf down the hallway. When he could see her no more, Eragon slumped to the floor and tried to touch the magic again. Oaths flew from his dry lips when it eluded his grasp.

He looked out at the city and ground his teeth. It was only midafternoon. Taking a calming breath, he tried to wait patiently.

* * *

It was dark in Eragon's cell when he sat up with a start. The wrinkle had shifted! He had felt the magic at the edge of his consciousness for hours, but every time he tried to use it, nothing happened. Eyes bright with nervous energy, he clenched his hands and said, " _Nagz reisa!_ " With a flap, the cot's blanket flew into the air and crumpled into a ball the size of his fist. It landed on the floor with a soft thump.

Exhilarated, Eragon stood. He was weak from his enforced fast, but his excitement overcame his hunger. _Now for the real test._ He reached out with his mind and felt the lock on the door. Instead of trying to break or cut it, he simply pushed its internal mechanism into the unlocked position. With a click, the door creaked inward.

When he had first used magic to kill the Urgals in Yazuac, it had nearly consumed all his strength, but he had grown much stronger since then. What once would have exhausted him now only dipped slightly into his energy.

He cautiously stepped out into the hall. _I have to find Zar'roc and the elf. She must be in one of these cells, but there isn't time to look in them all. As for Zar'roc, the Shade may have it with him. He realized that his thinking was still muddled. Why am I out here? I could escape right now if I went back into the cell and opened the window with magic. But then I wouldn't be able to rescue the elf..._ He paused and silently berated himself. " _Saphira, where are you? I need your help._ "

Her reply came with surprising alacrity. " _Eragon! I'm over Gil'ead. Don't do anything. Murtagh and Paltis are on the way._ "

" _What are-_ " Footsteps interrupted him. He spun around, crouching as a squad of six soldiers marched into the corridor. They halted abruptly, eyes flicking between Eragon and the open cell door. Blood drained from their faces. _Good, they know who I am. Maybe I can scare them off so we won't have to fight._

"Charge!" Yelled one of the soldiers, running forward. The rest of the men drew their blades and pounded down the hall.

It was madness to fight six men when he was unarmed and weak, but the thought of the elf kept him in place. He could not force himself to abandon her. Uncertain if the effort would leave him standing, he pulled on his power and raised his hand, the gedwëy ignasia glowing. Fear shone in the soldiers' eyes, but they were hardened warriors and did not slow. As Eragon opened his mouth to pronounce the fatal words, there was a low buzz, and a flicker of motion. One of the men crashed to the floor with an arrow in his back. Two more were struck before anyone understood what was happening.

At the end of the hallway, where the soldiers had entered, stood a ragged, bearded man with a bow. A crutch lay on the floor by his feet, apparently unneeded, for he stood tall and straight. Eragon noticed, too, that there was something strange beside the man, a faint refraction of light that didn't sit right with him.

The three remaining soldiers turned to face this new threat. Eragon took advantage of the confusion. " _Thrysta!_ " He shouted. One of the men clutched his chest and fell. Eragon staggered as the magic took its toll. He watched, with wide eyes, as one of the remaining soldiers was plucked off his feet by an invisible force and slammed against a stone wall with enough momentum to shatter every bone in his body. The flicker in the air pulled away, and in its place Paltis stood, armoured like she were about to march off to war.

When the archer took aim at the last soldier, Eragon called out, "Don't kill him!" The bearded man lowered his bow.

Eragon concentrated on the soldier before him. The man was breathing hard; the whites of his eyes showed and he kept looking in the direction of Paltis. He seemed to understand that his life was being spared, but it did nothing to assuage his terror.

"You've seen what I can do," Eragon growled harshly. "If you don't answer my questions, the rest of your life will be spent in utter misery and torment. Now where's my sword - its sheath and blade are red - and what cell is the elf in?"

The man clamped his mouth shut.

Eragon's palm glowed ominously as he reached for his magic. "That was the wrong answer," he snapped. "Do you know how much pain a grain of sand can cause you when it's embedded red hot in your stomach? Especially when it doesn't cool off for the next twenty years and slowly burns its way down to your toes? By the time it gets out of you, you'll be an old man." He paused for an effect. "Unless you tell me what I want."

The soldier's eyes bulged, but he remained silent. Eragon scraped some dirt off the stone floor and observed dispassionately. "This is a bit more than a grain, but be comforted; it'll burn through you faster. Still, it'll hurt more." At his word, the dirt shone cherry red, though it did not burn his hand.

"Alright, just don't put that near me!" The soldier yelped. "The elf's in the last cell to the left! I don't know about your sword, but it's probably in the guardroom upstairs. All the weapons are there."

Eragon nodded, then murmured, " _Slytha_ _._ " The soldier's eyes rolled up into his head, and he collapsed limply.

"Did you kill him?"

Eragon looked at the archer, who was now only a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes, trying to see past the beard. "Murtagh! Is that you?" He exclaimed.

"Yes," Murtagh replied, lifting the disguise from his shaven face. "I don't want my face seen. Did you kill him?"

"No, he's only asleep. How did you both get in?"

"Paltis has... something," the other youth replied uncertainly. The Eliksni briefly glanced in his direction, daggers drawn, but soon returned to looking up and down the hallway. Murtagh continued. "There's no time to explain. We have to get up to the next floor before anyone finds us. There'll be an escape route for us in a few minutes. We don't want to miss it."

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Eragon asked, gesturing to the unconscious soldier. "There's an elf in the prison. I saw her! We have to rescue her. I need your help."

"An elf!" Murtagh hurried down the hall, growling. "This is a mistake. We should flee while we have the chance." He stopped before the indicated cell and produced a ring of keys from under his ragged cloak. "I took it from a guard," he explained. "Now I just need to-"

Before either of them could protest, Paltis brushed past them with a ferocious determination and ripped the cell door clean off its hinges in one fluid motion. Eragon gaped; he hadn't anticipated that she could muster that kind of strength. However, the sight within the cell was more pressing and he quickly quashed his shock.

A single beam of moonlight slanted through the window, illuminating the elf's face with cool silver. She faced them, tense and coiled, ready for whatever would happen next. She held her head high, with a queen's demeanour. Her eyes, dark green, almost black, and slightly angled like a cat's, settled on Paltis in a reproachful manner. Chills shot through Eragon.

Then the elf trembled and collapsed soundlessly. Eragon rushed forward and barely caught her before she struck the floor. She was surprisingly light. An aroma of freshly crushed pine needles surrounded her.

"Move!" Paltis ordered them in her halted speech. "Hear-more."

"She's wounded," Eragon noted.

"We can tend to her later. Are you strong enough to carry her?" Murtagh asked. Eragon shook his head. "Then I'll do it." The other man grunted as he hefted the elf's weight and slung her across his shoulder. "Now, upstairs!" He handed Eragon a dagger, and they followed Paltis as she swept back through the hall littered with bodies.

With no sound save for the light clacking of claws on stone, Paltis led Eragon and Murtagh to a stone-hewn staircase at the end of the hall. As they climbed it, Eragon asked, "How are we going to get out without being noticed?"

"We're not," Murtagh told him.

That did not allay Eragon's fears. He listened anxiously for soldiers or anyone else who might be nearby, dreading what might happen if they met the Shade. At the head of the stairs was a banquet room filled with broad wooden tables. Shields lined the walls, and the wood ceiling was trussed with curved beams. Murtagh laid the elf on a table and looked at the ceiling worriedly. "Can you talk to Saphira for me?"

"Yes."

"Tell her to wait another five minutes."

There were shouts in the distance. Soldiers marched past the entrance to their room. Eragon's mouth tightened with pent-up tension. "Whatever you're planning to do, I don't think we have enough time."

"Just tell her, and stay out of sight," Murtagh told him firmly. The other boy said something in a hushed voice to Paltis, to which she nodded with some hesitation. Eragon relayed Murtagh's words to Saphira, and watched with concern as the other youth ran off.

A minute later, he was alarmed to hear men coming up the stairs. "No-sight!" Paltis quickly ordered Eragon, and she disappeared from view. Fighting hunger and exhaustion, he dragged the elf off the table and hid her underneath it. He crouched next to her, holding his breath, clenching the dagger in his fist. He distantly picked up on a low buzzing - like that of a swarm of bees - right beside him, but he couldn't exactly place it.

Ten soldiers entered the room. They swept through it hurriedly, looking under only a couple of tables, and continued on their way. Eragon leaned against a table leg, sighing. The respite made him suddenly aware of his burning stomach and parched throat. A tankard and a plate of half-eaten food on the other side of the room caught his attention.

Eragon quickly glanced about, but he found something suddenly grabbing the collar of his tunic before he could run. Paltis suddenly reappeared, and the buzzing noise disappeared. "No," she told him. Her eyes were trained on the way they had come, and Eragon, though he ached for sustenance, put his trust in her senses. Her suspicions were confirmed when they heard footsteps of someone running up the stairs, though before they even appeared the Eliksni relaxed and let go of Eragon.

Murtagh returned carrying Zar'roc, a strange bow, and an elegant sword without a sheath. Murtagh gave the red sword to Eragon. "I found the other sword and bow in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed they were the elf's."

"What now?" Eragon asked. "We can't stay here forever. Sooner or later, the soldiers will find us."

"Now," Murtagh said, taking out his own bow and fitting an arrow to the string, "we wait. Like I said, our escape has been arranged."

"You don't understand; there's a Shade here! If he finds us, we're doomed!"

"A Shade!" Murtagh exclaimed. "In that case, tell Saphira to come immediately. We were going to wait until the watch changed, but delaying even that long is too dangerous now." Eragon reached out and passed along the message. "You messed up my plans by escaping by yourself."

Eragon smiled. "In that case, perhaps I should have waited. Your timing was perfect, though. I wouldn't have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all those soldiers with magic."

"Glad to be of some use," Murtagh remarked. He stiffened as they heard men running nearby. "Let's just hope the Shade doesn't find us."

A cold chuckle filled the banquet room. "I'm afraid it's far too late for that."

Eragon spun around. He heard Murtagh draw his bow and Paltis give a growl as she drew her swords, but his attention was squarely on the Shade standing alone at the end of the room. In his hand was a pale sword with a thin scratch on the blade. He unclasped the brooch that held his cape in place and let the garment fall to the floor. His body was like a runner's, thin and compact, but Eragon remembered Brom's warning and knew that the Shade's appearance was deceiving; he was many times stronger than a normal human.

The Shade stared at Paltis, his lips pulled back into a malicious grin. "What are _you?_ "

"I'll take care of him," Murtagh said quietly.

"No," Paltis ordered without looking back. "Mine."

Her message was clear. Eragon didn't dare protest, not only for fear of volunteering to face the Shade himself, but for opposing the short-tempered Eliksni. _Of the two, who would be stronger?_

The Shade's maroon eyes burned like coals. He laughed softly. "Do you really think to defeat me? I could pluck your head from your-"

Paltis struck out almost too fast for Eragon to comprehend. Her two swords clashed loudly against that of the Shade, and she continued her assault without pause. The Shade's eyes widened as he was pressed to defend against an unyielding opponent whose every blow was strong enough to shatter bone, all the more difficult for the prowess with which Paltis fought.

The ceiling boomed and shook, but neither fighter appeared to notice it. Dust billowed from above and turned the air grey while pieces of wood fell around them, shattering on the floor. From the roof came screams and the sound of clashing metal. Afraid of being brained by the falling timber, Eragon flicked his eyes upwards and held up an arm to protect his eyes.

Terrible screeches sounded above them, like iron spikes being drawn across rock. Three long cracks split the ceiling. Shingles from the slate roof fell through the fissures, and one shattered across Paltis' armoured shoulder, but she didn't react at all.

The Shade slipped free of the Eliksni's onslaught and slashed viciously at her side. Though the blade didn't pierce the plate armour, the force of it was heavy enough to elicit a snarl. Paltis swatted him away, but she was unable to press the attack. She hunkered over, clutching her side delicately, and hissed at the Shade. The dark monster chuckled and began to approach her. "You'll have to do better than that if you want to-"

An arrow caught him between the eyes. The Shade howled with agony and writhed, covering his face. His skin turned gray. Mist formed in the air around him, obscuring his figure. There was an ear-piercing cry; then the cloud vanished.

Where the Shade had once been was empty save for a cape and a pile of clothes. "You killed him!" Eragon cried, turning to Murtagh.

"I'm not so sure," he mumbled.

A new voice shouted, "That's it. He failed. Go in and get them!" Soldiers with nets and spears poured into the banquet room from both ends. Eragon and Murtagh backed up against a wall, dragging the elf with them, and Paltis relocated herself in front of them in a protective manner, holding her swords out wide. Even wounded she posed a fearsome sight, and the soldiers kept their distance as they formed a menacing half-circle around them.

There was a thunderous reverberation as a chunk of the ceiling was torn away to reveal the night sky. Saphira stuck her head through the hole and roared. She gripped the edge of the opening with her powerful talons and ripped off another large section of the ceiling.

Three soldiers turned and ran, but the rest held their positions. With a resounding report, the centre beam of the ceiling cracked and rained down heavy shingles. Confusion scattered the ranks as they tried to dodge the deadly barrage. Eragon and Murtagh pressed against the wall to avoid the falling debris. Saphira roared again, and the soldiers fled.

With a final titanic effort, Saphira tore off the rest of the ceiling before jumping into the banquet hall with her wings folded. Her weight splintered a table with a sharp crunch. Crying out with relief, Eragon threw his arms around her. She hummed contently, " _I've missed you._ "

" _Same here. There's someone else with us. Can you carry four?_ "

" _Of course,_ " she said, kicking shingles and tables out of the way so she could take off. Murtagh and Eragon pulled the elf out of hiding. Saphira hissed in surprise as she saw her. " _An elf!_ "

" _Yes, and the woman I saw in my dreams,_ " Eragon explained. He helped Murtagh secure the elf into the saddle, then they both climbed onto Saphira. " _I heard fighting on the roof. Are there men up there?_ "

" _There were, but no more. Are you ready?_ "

" _Yes._ "

Saphira waited for Paltis to scramble up onto her back - with some difficulty, Eragon was worried to observe - then leapt out of the banquet hall and onto the fortress' roof, where the bodies of watchmen lay scattered. "Look!" Murtagh shouted, pointing. A row of archers filed out of a tower on the other side of the roofless hall.

"Saphira, you have to take off. Now!" Eragon warned.

She unfurled her wings, ran toward the edge of the building, and propelled them over it with her powerful legs. The extra weight on her back made her drop alarmingly. As she struggled to gain altitude, Eragon heard the musical twang of bowstrings being released.

Arrows whizzed towards them in the dark. Saphira roared with pain as she was struck and quickly rolled to the left to avoid the next volley. More arrows perforated the sky, but the night protected them from the shaft's deadly bite. Distressed, Eragon bent over Saphira's neck. " _Where are you hurt?_ "

" _My wings are pierced... One of the arrows didn't go all the way through. It's still there._ " Her breathing was laboured and heavy.

" _How far can you take us?_ "

" _I'll make it to our camp. Alkris and Tellesa are waiting with the horses._ "

Eragon held onto the elf as they skimmed over Gil'ead, then left the city behind and veered eastwards, soaring up through the darkening sky.

* * *

Saphira drifted down to a clearing, landed on the crest of a hill, and rested her outstretched wings on the ground. Eragon could feel her shaking beneath him. They were only a half-league from Gil'ead.

Picketed in the clearing were Snowfire, Tornac, and Tellesa's mare. Tellesa herself rushed forward, worry written across her face. She wore her traveling garb, but had her sword belted to her side. Alkris stayed back, though he only had eyes for them. Eragon slid to the ground and immediately turned to treat Saphira's injuries, while Murtagh left to ready the horses. Paltis stumbled away from the dragon and welcomed a tight embrace from Alkris, who began rapidly speaking in a soft tone.

"Thank the gods," Tellesa breathed. She cast a worried eye over Saphira. "What's wrong?"

"Archers," Murtagh answered bluntly.

Tellesa cursed. "I should have been there."

"And risk being caught unawares once more? You're a better warrior than I, but not so much a thief," Murtagh replied.

"Perhaps, but I could have... who's that?!" Tellesa had caught sight of the elf.

Murtagh gave a brief, humourless chuckle. "Another captive of the empire."

Unable to see well in the darkness, Eragon ran his hands blindly over Saphira's wings. He found three places where arrows had punctured the thin membrane, leaving bloody holes as thick around his thumb. A small piece had also been torn out of the back edge of her left wing. She shivered when his fingers brushed the injuries. He tiredly healed the wounds with words from the ancient language. Then he went to the arrow that was embedded in one of the large muscles of her flying arm. The arrowhead poked through its underside. Warm blood dripped off it.

Eragon called Tellesa over and instructed, "Hold her wing down. I have to remove this arrow." He indicated where Tellesa should grip. " _This will be painful,_ " he warned Saphira, " _but it will be over quickly. Try not to struggle - you'll hurt us._ "

She extended her neck and grabbed a tall sapling between her curved teeth. With a yank of her head, she pulled the tree out of the ground and clamped it firmly in her jaws. " _I'm ready._ "

" _Okay,_ " Eragon replied. "Hold on," he whispered to Tellesa, then broke off the head of the arrow. Trying not to cause any more damage, he swiftly pulled the shaft out of Saphira. As it left her muscles, she threw back her head and whimpered past the tree in her mouth. Her wing jerked involuntarily, almost tossing Tellesa aside.

With a growl, Saphira shook the tree, spraying them with dirt, and tossed it away. After Eragon sealed the wound, he checked on the unconscious elf. " _You're going to have to carry her a bit longer,_ " he told Saphira. " _We can't take her on the horses and ride fast enough. Flying should be easier for you now that the arrow is out._ "

Saphira lowered her head. " _I'll do it._ "

" _Thank you,_ " Eragon said. He hugged her fiercely. " _What you did was incredible; I'll never forget it._ "

Her eyes softened. " _I will go now._ " He backed away as she flew up in a flurry of air, the elf's hair streaming back. Seconds later they were gone. Eragon hurried to Snowfire and pulled himself into the saddle. Tellesa and Murtagh mounted up seconds later, and the Eliksni set themselves on either side of the horse riders. Eragon worried for Paltis, but as soon as he tried to speak to her about her injury, she shot his efforts down by running ahead. Alkris laughed, and he stayed with the humans as they galloped off in pursuit.

While they rode, Eragon tried to remember what he knew about elves. They had long lives - that fact was oft repeated - although he didn't know how long. They spoke the ancient language, and many could use magic. After the Riders' fall, elves had retreated into seclusion. None of them had been seen in the empire since, barring those of the Forsworn. _So why is one here now? And how did the Empire manage to capture her? If she can use magic, she's probably drugged as I was._

They traveled through the night, not stopping even when his failing strength began to slow them. He continued onwards despite burning eyes and clumsy movements. Behind them, lines of torch-bearing horsemen searched around Gil'ead for their trail.

After many bleary hours, dawn lightened the sky. By unspoken consent they stopped the horses. "We have to make camp," Eragon said wearily. "I must sleep - whether they catch us or not."

"Agreed," Murtagh replied, rubbing his eyes. "Have Saphira land. Alkris, can you call Paltis? We need to catch up."

" _Eia,_ " Alkris let out a series of quick barks while Eragon conversed with Saphira. They followed her directions and found her drinking by a stream at the base of a small cliff, the elf still slouched on her back and Paltis by her side. Saphira greeted them with a soft trill as Eragon dismounted.

Tellesa, the least tired of the trio, helped him remove the elf from Saphira's saddle and lower her to the ground. Then he sagged against the rock face, exhausted. Saphira examined the elf curiously. " _I wonder why she hasn't woken up. It's been hours since we left Gil'ead._ "

" _Who knows what they did to her?_ "

Murtagh followed their gaze. "As far as I know, she's the first elf the king has captured. Ever since they went into hiding, he's been looking for them without success - until now. So he's either found their sanctuary, or she was captured by chance. I think it was chance. If he found the elf haven, he would have declared war and sent his army after the elves. Since that hasn't happened, the question is 'Were Galbatorix's men able to extract her people's location before we rescued her?'"

"We won't know until she regains consciousness. Tell me what happened after I was captured. How did I end up in Gil'ead?"

"The Urgals are working for the empire," Tellesa said bitterly. "I thought that would have ended with the Shade dead, but it seems not. We managed to escape and saw the Urgals deliver you to the soldiers."

Eragon glanced at Murtagh. "There... was a Shade in Gil'ead."

Tellesa stiffened and looked at him with wide eyes. "What?" She asked in a very quiet voice.

"A Shade oversaw my imprisonment. He works for the king, I think."

"What did he look like?"

Eragon tried to remember. "He was lean and fit. His hair was the colour of blood and shoulder-length, while his eyes were the hue of wine. His skin was deathly pale, almost transparent. He's dead, though. Murtagh shot him."

"I wouldn't be so sure of his fate," Murtagh mumbled.

Tellesa didn't say anything for a moment, then rose up and kicked aside a rock. The stone clattered against the cliff, and Eragon watched confused as Tellesa paced frantically, hugging herself.

"What's wrong?" He eventually asked.

"We didn't kill him!" She exclaimed, angry tears in her eyes. "We didn't kill him... Damn it all!" She shouted into the sky, seemingly expending all her energy into it. Finally, she buckled under her own exhaustion and grief, and retreated to the far side of their camp.

"Hurt?" Alkris suddenly questioned, looking between him and Tellesa, who faced away from them.

" _I'll speak with her,_ " Saphira suddenly announced. She dragged herself over to Tellesa's side and laid down her head. Eragon felt Saphira's presence close off from his and he didn't complain - they deserved privacy.

A new thought, one that caused no end of worry, crept in. His mind flashed back to the Urgals he had spoken with at Teirm and the 'master' they had mentioned. _They meant the king! I insulted the most powerful man in Alagaësia!_ Then he remembered the horror of the slaughtered villagers in Yazuac. A sick angry feeling welled in his stomach. Glowering, Eragon said, "This will mean war! Once the people of the empire learn of this alliance, they will rebel and support the Varden."

Murtagh rested his chin in his hand. "Even if they heard of this outrage, few would make it to the Varden. With the Urgals under his command, the king has enough warriors to close the empire's borders and remain in control, no matter how disruptive people are. With such a rule of terror, he will be able to shape the empire however he wants. And thought he is hated, people could be galvanized into joining him if they had a common enemy."

"Who would that be?" Eragon asked, perplexed.

"The elves and the Varden. With the right rumours they can be portrayed as the most despicable monsters in Alagaësia - fiends who are waiting to seize your land and wealth. The empire could even say that the Urgals have been misunderstood all this time and that they are really friends and allies against such terrible enemies. I only wonder what the king has promised them in return for their services."

"It wouldn't work." Eragon shook his head. "No one could be deceived that easily about Galbatorix and the Urgals. Besides, why would he want to do that? He's already in power."

"But his authority is challenged by the Varden, with whom people sympathize. There's also Surda, which has defied him since it seceded from the empire. Galbatorix is strong within the empire, but his arm is weak outside of it. As for people seeing through his deceptions, they'll believe whatever he wants them to. It's happened before." Murtagh fell silent and gazed moodily into the distance.

Eragon paused. The Eliksni had retreated to their own side of the camp, where they spoke to one another in hushed tones, and both Saphira and Tellesa were at the opposite end, engrossed in their own talks. Finally, he looked at Murtagh. "You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I couldn't have escaped on my own."

"I'm just glad I could help. It..." Murtagh faltered and rubbed his face. "My main worry now is how we're going to travel with so many men searching for us. Gil'ead's soldiers will be hunting us tomorrow; once they find the horses' tracks, they'll know you didn't fly away with Saphira."

Eragon glumly agreed. "How did you manage to get into the castle?"

Murtagh laughed softly. "By paying a steep bribe and listening to Paltis' every instruction. Did you know our guards have enchanted objects that hide them in plain sight? But the plan wouldn't have worked without Saphira. She is the only reason we escaped. I don't know if Paltis would have been able to defeat the rest of the soldiers."

Eragon solemnly looked at the dragon. She hummed contentedly, with Tellesa leaned against her. Eragon's gaze soon switched to the elf. Reluctantly, he dragged himself upright. "We should make a bed for her."

Murtagh got to his feet and stretched out a blanket for the elf. When they lifted her onto it, the cuff of her sleeve tore on a fallen branch. Eragon began to pinch the fabric together, then gasped.

The elf's arm was mottled with bruises and cuts; some were half-healed, while others were fresh and oozing. Eragon shook his head with anger and pulled the sleeve up higher. The injuries continued to her shoulder. With trembling fingers, he unlaced the back of her shirt, dreading what might be under it.

As the leather slipped off, Murtagh cursed. The elf's back was strong and muscled, but it was covered with scabs that made her skin look like dry, cracked mud. She had been whipped mercilessly and branded with hot irons in the shape of claws. Where her skin was still intact, it was purple and black from numerous beatings. On her left shoulder was a tattoo inscribed with indigo ink. It was the same symbol that had been on the sapphire of Brom's ring. Eragon silently swore that he would kill whoever was responsible for torturing the elf.

"Can you heal this?" Murtagh asked.

"I- I don't know," Eragon replied. He swallowed back his sudden queasiness. "There's so much... but I have to try." Determined, he pulled off his gloves and said to Murtagh, "This is going to take some time. Can you get me food? Also, boil rags for bandages; I can't heal all her wounds."

"We can't make a fire without being seen," Murtagh objected. "You'll have to use unwashed cloths, and the food will be cold."

Eragon grimaced but acquiesced. He took a deep breath, then reached for the necessary magic and started working. He spoke the ancient words, " _Waíse heill!_ " A burn shimmered under his palm, and new, unmarked skin flowed over it, joining together without a scar. He passed over bruises and other wounds that were not life-threatening - healing them all would consume the energy he needed for more serious injuries. As Eragon toiled, he marveled that the elf was still alive. She had been repeatedly tortured to the edge of death with a precision that chilled him.

Although he tried to preserve the elf's modesty, he could not help but notice that underneath the disfiguring marks, her body was exceptionally beautiful. He was exhausted and did not dwell upon it - though his ears turned red at times, and he fervently hoped that Saphira did not know what he was thinking.

He labored to dawn, pausing only at brief intervals to eat and drink, trying to replenish himself from his fast, the escape, and now healing the elf. The sun was well into the sky when he finally stood, groaning as his cramped muscles stretched. His hands were gray and his eyes felt dry and gritty. He stumbled to the the saddlebags and took a long draught from a wineskin.

"Is it done?" Murtagh asked.

Eragon nodded, trembling. He did not trust himself to speak. The entire camp spun before him; he nearly fainted. He was immensely glad when Saphira's strength quickly suffused with his own. " _You did well,_ " she said soothingly.

"Will she live?"

"I don't... don't know," he responded in a ravaged voice. "Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, I might be able to revive her, but..." He gestured helplessly. His hand was shaking so badly he spilled some of the wine. Another swig helped to steady him "We'd better start riding again."

"No! You must sleep," Murtagh protested.

"We don't have a choice," Tellesa suddenly interjected. Her eyes were red-rimmed and joyless, and she looked just as exhausted as Eragon felt.

"I can... sleep in the saddle," he decided. "But we can't afford to stay here, not with the soldiers closing on us."

Murtagh reluctantly gave in. "In that case I'll lead Snowfire while you rest."

They resaddled the horses, strapped the elf onto the saddle, and departed the camp. The Eliksni followed without a word, just as subdued as the humans. Eragon didn't know if they got any rest either. He dimly recalled them watching him heal the elf at some points during the night, so perhaps not.

Eragon ate while he rode, trying to replace his depleted energy before he leaned forward against Snowfire and closed his eyes.

**000**

"It had the smell of ash and rot," Paltis growled. "And it possessed all the strength of a Hive Knight, but with the speed of a Thrall. It looked human, yet it wasn't."

"Hive magic, perhaps?" Alkris asked. He was worried. Mostly for Paltis, who only allowed herself to give in to the limp when they were out of sight of the humans. Her pride would be her death, he thought, but it was what he loved about her.

"I don't know." She shook her head almost violently. " _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ must be informed. Scars will not survive the Hive again."

"We will send him a message by the end of this rotation. When we are sure the humans are safe." Alkris looked back and inhaled through his nostrils. Nothing but the fresh scent of the wilds. "We will be safe to head onwards. I worry for them, though. We almost lost one."

"But we didn't." Paltis scoffed. "Just get tribute for our ether, you empty-headed fool."

Alkris closed his outer eyes and brought his helmet gently against hers. "Watch over them."

"Go, fool," she repeated, but he could hear the fondness in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editz!


	28. Long Nights

_"We know where it is. We will deal with it once and for all."_

_"I killed it once. I can do it again."_

_"No, brother. The Master needs tribute. Our plans will go ahead as planned. Gather your offering. And find the children."_

_"What of their pets? What of those allied with the hypocrite?"_

_"We will break them too. The chaos they invite... it does not suit our purpose."_

**000**

Formora tried to sleep, but the stench of smoke and the muffled roars of Eliksni prevented her from finding any rest. When she realized that respite wasn't an option, she opened her eyes and found Xiān watching her from the bedpost, standing guard over the unconscious Risen.

"So..." The spirit began awkwardly.

Formora raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

The Ghost's singular eye blinked. "... Wow."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Well no, it's probably something, but I have to be polite."

Formora stared at the Ghost, but after a few seconds of no further response, she gave up and leaned back in the cushioned armchair. Her armour was unusually cosy, a far leap from the steel plate she'd previously employed. She could comfortably wear it outside of battle, which was more than ideal when the king's assassins or foreign ambushers threatened to strike at inopportune moments. It weighed less too.

Xiān's silence lasted all of a minute. "You're intense."

Formora exhaled slowly. "Am I?"

"Similar to Ikharos, I guess. You both act like the world will end if it goes a week without proper supervision."

"I feel it's warranted," she argued. She didn't know why she even bothered. What would a spirit know of struggles that trouble those made of flesh and bone?

"Maybe," the Ghost allowed. "But you can take things easy once in a while. Make life worth something."

"Is vengeance not worth something? Justice?"

"Vengeance is cheap and justice is a bad joke."

Formora paused for a moment. "You speak like you've seen the world when it's not under proper supervision."

"I have. It's far from pretty. Not that _this_ is much of an improvement." Xiān turned and looked at the door. "We have visitors. With a box."

Formora frowned, but a sharp series of knocks on the door interrupted her half-formed question. She stood up and answered it, holding a dagger behind her back. The Eliksni on the other side blinked at her in an indecipherable code and clicked rapidly, then pointed to another pair behind it. They held a crate between them.

Xiān flew over Formora's shoulder and asked, " _Ze ta?_ "

Formora wondered what it meant. She decided to ask for instructions on the Eliksni language later. She anticipated more of _this_ in her future.

The Eliksni struck up a brief conversation with Xiān and left soon after, but the heavy crate remained. It was larger than she was and forged of metal, and a handful of green lights dotted the sides. Formora immediately knew that carrying it was beyond her.

Xiān surprised her, however, when she used her own magic to transport the crate from the corridor outside to the middle of their room in an instant. Formora blinked and gaped, but the Ghost didn't give any explanation. Xiān hummed a merry tune and opened the crate with a lance of bright blueish-white light. The metal container opened up with a hiss.

"Our stuff!" Xiān happily exclaimed. Formora shook her head. Foreign magics of other worlds, she supposed. It was a messy topic that only got more confusing the more she learned.

A quick glance inside the crate confirmed it. Even Kida's broken husk was inside. Formora eyed the dead Frame with a conflicted expression. What use was it now? It seemed a waste to just leave it. "You can carry all this?"

Kida looked heavy, but the spirit wasn't deterred. "Yup. We'll be on our way soon enough."

Formora frowned. "But we haven't achieved what we came here for."

"What were... oh yeah." Xiān shook her fins in a manner that Formora understood as irritation. "The Shade. The Cabal killed all the soldiers, though. We won't be able to ask them anything. They're a bit too dead."

"They weren't the only ones who would've known about Durza." Formora approached the crate and, to her relief, found her own weapons, Vaeta included. The oak-coloured edge cut the dim light of the room's sole candle. "If we are to remain here while Ikharos recovers, we might as well make the most of it. Lord Tarrant was bound to have been informed, if nothing else."

Xiān perked up. "So we're interrogating him?"

" _I_ am. Doesn't Ikharos need you?" Formora took out her shield and attached it to her magnetic bracer.

"I'm a Ghost, not a nanny. He'll do just fine without me. _You_ , on the other hand..."

Formora raised an eyebrow. "I'll need you?"

"Can you speak Eliksni?"

"... No."

"Exactly." The spirit excitedly flew to the door and looked back. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"

Formora opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came to mind. With a sigh she donned her helmet and followed Xiān out of the room. They strolled through the hallways, passing Eliksni of all sorts, and finally struck upon luck when they found a human by the mostly abandoned kitchens. The butler looked terrified, even before she made her presence clear, and it was doubly so when he caught sight of Formora. Her armour painted quite a sinister image, she would freely admit.

"Where's Tarrant?" She asked bluntly.

The butler, a middle-aged man in a dusty uniform, paled fearfully. "H-he's in the lower keep! On the north side!"

"What for?"

"Safer l-lodgings! Please!" He fell to his knees and held up his hands.

Formora left him there. Though she couldn't see the Ghost, she could feel Xiān's presence close by. It was a reassuring sensation, but unfamiliar too. It had been a long time since she'd truly been able to trust anyone even remotely. Every day she'd spent with Enduriel had been fraught with mistrust and hostility. Xiān was preferable as a companion.

* * *

She knocked on the grand door and waited for an answer. She knew, through a brief mental probe, that Tarrant was in the room with four others, but she decided that opening up with brute force wouldn't be near as efficient as a more subtle approach.

She heard footfalls leading up to the door, a lock being unlatched, and it gradually cracked open. A suspicious-looking man garbed in chainmail glared at her. "Who are you?" He demanded harshly.

"I'm here to speak to Lord Elmys Tarrant," Formora explained in a mild tone. Her voice was modulated by her helmet into something that just wasn't her - complete with warbles and spikes of changes in pitch, which Xiān had said made it sound electronic. It would disguise her voice on the off chance that anyone they met previously knew her.

Elmys Tarrant didn't know her. He'd been little more than an infant in swaddling clothes when she'd last been in Alagaësia, but it wasn't out of the question that others from that time still lived. Especially those dark creatures who served Galbatorix directly.

The manservant recoiled at the sound of her voice and stared at her. Finally he narrowed his eyes and replied, "He is tired. Come back another time."

"It concerns the king," Formora lowered her voice. It had the desired effect: the man looked uniquely disturbed.

"Gods' sake, man, what is it?!" Another voice called out.

The man turned to answer, but kept his wary eyes on Formora. "One of the king's messengers."

"Let them in!" The other voice said urgently. "Quick! Before another one of those vermin tries to speak to us!"

The servant opened the door wider and ushered Formora in, then closed and locked it behind her. She looked around the spacious, glamorous quarters, but the scene in the centre of it gave her pause. "Lord Tarrant," she greeted coolly, but her eyes were not on him. Three slaves, wearing only thin clothes stained with sweat and filth, cowered before the noble clad in his ceremonial armour. The three bore collars around their necks and their wrists were restrained with manacles. They were young, barely adults, and they looked scared.

"What do you want?" Elmys Tarrant snapped. "Is this about the four-armed vermin? Disgusting creatures... I hope the king gets rid of them soon. The giants had more manners than they do."

Her appearance didn't seem to faze him in the slightest. He was a portly man with black hair and a delicately maintained beard. A sword was sheathed at his hip, but he held a stick. It looked as if he'd been hitting the slaves with it. One of the girls bore a horrific bruise on her cheek.

Formora sighed. Subtlety wasn't going to work. She simply didn't have the patience. " _Atra nosu waíse vardo fra eld hórnya_ _,_ " she muttered. She swung out with Vaeta and caught the manservant in the neck. Before the body even hit the floor, she twirled about, drew her sidearm and fired. The bullet shattered Tarrant's stick, and the nobleman gave a surprised yelp. The slaves screamed.

"But... but..." Tarrant mumbled, staring wide-eyed at her. She grabbed him by the collar and tossed him against the far wall.

" _That didn't take long,_ " a voice said from within. Formora didn't deign to answer the Ghost.

She held out an empty hand in an attempt to placate the slaves, but they didn't heed it. Formora removed her helmet. It had the desired effect and quietened them, but it was more so out of shock and disbelief rather than reassurance.

"You have nothing to fear," Formora told them in a gentle voice. "You won't be slaves any longer."

A ray of hope shined through their eyes, but it had to crawl past the heavy fog of fear that threatened to overcome them. Not one of them said a word.

"I need your help," Formora continued. She ignored the high-pitched yammering of Tarrant. "Do you know who the city guildmasters are?"

A few moments passed before one of the girls dared answer. "Kelton of the b-blacksmiths a-and Quipp of the fisherfolk," she answered in a squeaky voice. "

"Kelton's still alive? I thought he'd be dead by now." Formora nodded thoughtfully.

A second girl, perhaps spurred on by her fellow, quietly asked, "Are you an elf?"

Formora smiled. She hoped it was comforting. She was more accustomed to dealing with fellow killers and soldiers, those with hardier attitudes and stubborn spirits. Sometimes she forgot the delicate hand one needed when dealing with the common people. "I am."

Awe began to replace their fear, but it was still ever-present. Formora whispered a spell under her breath, " _Waíse losnaí._ "

The slaves' manacles loosed and fell from their persons. The three girls gingerly raised their arms, now free of restraints, and regarded the elf with unrestrained wonder.

"Thank you!" The third exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

"If you are willing, there is something you can do for me," Formora told them. "Can you ferry a message to Master Kelton? I need him to tell the people of Ceunon to leave the city and make for the empire. This place won't hold much longer."

"Y-yes, mistress!" One of the slaves stood up and bowed. "I'll deliver it!"

"He'll need the lord's seal to believe it!" Another objected. She pointed to a dresser in the far corner. "The lord stamped every letter he made with it. Kelton will know to look for it!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less..." Formora walked over to the dresser and began gathering together the necessary materials. She dipped a quill into an inkwell and began writing on the exquisite parchment with flowing letters.

"Mistress!" One of the slaves called out fearfully. "Lord Tarrant is-"

" _Jierda thierra kalfis,_ " Formora cast without looking. She heard a sickening crunch and then an agonized howl. "We aren't finished, Elmys."

She signed the letter with Tarrant's name, stamped the seal at the bottom and turned around. Tarrant lay on the ground, his calves shattered, and mewled pitifully. The slaves stared at him with a mixture of horror and satisfaction. She handed it to the first slave. "Take this to Master Kelton. After that, you may do as you wish. Go home, if you can. I'd advise that you gather all the supplies you need from the castle's stores and then make your way south regardless. This city will be torn apart - you do not want to be here when it is. The Eliksni, who hold it now, should not bother you. If they do, say _Ikha Riis_ _._ "

It was the best she could come up with, but she knew it would give the Eliksni pause. She doubted there would be trouble in any case. The Eliksni had given no inclination for caring about the presence of humans. They'd ignored the denizens of the city, at least from what she'd seen, and focused instead on tending to their own or the captured Cabal machines.

The slaves dipped their heads. "Yes, mistress." They made for the door, sidestepping the body of the manservant, and the last one cried out "Thank you!" before they left.

When the door was shut and the slaves - former slaves now - were gone, Formora faced Tarrant, who looked up at her utterly petrified. His fear only doubled when Xiān appeared beside her, and the Ghost glared down at him with a single burning eye.

"What... what do you want...?" Tarrant babbled, panicking. His voice was tinted with pain. Formora doubted he would ever recover fully without the aid of magic. She didn't intend to give him that aid. "I served the king faithfully! Please, what did I do wrong?!"

She knelt down. "Tell me about the Shade. Now. Or we'll move onto your other bones."

**000**

"How long will it take?"

"A number of rotations, Sundrass-Captain."

"A number of- If we don't act fast, the Cabal will fall upon us!"

"I apologize," the Splicer bowed his head. "Perhaps a helping of concentrated ether would assist, but Tarrhis has ordered that able warriors receive the first rations."

"It is alright." Kiphoris tried to sit up in the makeshift bunk, but he stopped when his knee started to give out. "You have done well."

"Thank you, Kiphoris-Captain." The Splicer retreated to the other side of the chamber to assist the other wounded.

Sundrass growled. "This is not right. You are a Captain. You should be put before Vandals. Your worth has been proven a hundred times that of they."

"I am only one _eliko_ _._ " Kiphoris told her. "Mine-worth is not equal a hundred enhanced warriors. I will recover, and then assume my place in our war once more. We need not sacrifice extra ether for this... inconvenience."

"I should have killed the human properly when I had the chance." Sundrass perched beside him, her eyes glowing dangerously bright. "I should have cut him down where he stood."

"He would have gotten back up and killed you," Kiphoris told her. "I would not have any other die for mine-feuds. And this feud is over."

"It is over?" She asked, surprised. "You would throw it aside so easily?"

"Easily? No. But I cannot chase it. Tarrhis will exile me, and... and I would be a fool."

"A fool? How? That creature killed your kin!"

"They were mine-kin, _Eia_ , but they were loyal to Skolas. I owed them my loyalty, not my affections. They were beasts who sought only to hurt. To kill. Skolas ordered terrible things, and they carried out his orders with conviction and eagerness." Kiphoris stared at the distant stone wall. "They killed those who were as true kin to me, and dragged me along into their ill-fated rebellion. I followed, for they were all that remained of my home. Now... now Scar is mine-home. It has taken me time to realize that, but I do now. And I would be a fool to drag those I now call kin into a feud built of misplaced righteousness. I will not lose mine-House in a petty affair. For it is petty..." He closed his eyes. "Mine-sister would have jumped on such a chance. She was a hurtful beast who sought only to cause pain. I do not want to be like her, which I very nearly became. The human is right." He hated the words that came out of his mouth. "No matter what I feel on the matter, this feud is pointless."

Sundrass stared at him and then, finally, dipped her head. "It is your feud, Kiphoris. It is your choice." She stood, inner eyes closed. She was bitter about something.

"What is wrong?" Kiphoris asked.

She exhaled. "I must find Tarrhis and make preparations before Palkra arrives. The Cabal might try to counterattack, so I will ensure they are warded off. Recover quickly, Dreamer. There is much work to be done."

With a flick of her cloak, Sundrass marched away. Kiphoris leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the sudden silence. If he were lucky, the pain in his leg might calm down long enough for him to grab some rest.

**000**

If someone had been in the Ceunon's plaza at midnight exactly and looked up, they might have spotted a faint distortion in the air above. If they'd paid close attention, they might have heard the low hum of a cloak engine. They might have noticed the trail of heated air following the distortion, a telltale sign of a suicidal ninety-degree turn coupled with a rapid deceleration. They might have seen the shrouded figures fall silently from the distortion, having leapt from their hidden dropship, and heard a whisper of a roar as the military-grade vessel peeled off.

But no one was there. The people of Ceunon hid in their homes, afraid of the giants that had so recently been lording over them, of the man who slaughtered those conquerors so effortlessly, or the new nightmarish monsters who didn't pay them any mind. The current occupiers, the Eliksni, holed up in their Skiffs or the city's keep, working through the spoils of war at a steady pace. Most of those who remained able-bodied after the brief skirmish gorged themselves on the suddenly plentiful enhanced ether.

Not a single soul saw the figures race towards the keep without a sound, casting a dozen overly-complex spells or loading silenced automatic weapons.

**000**

Cadon absentmindedly twirled the smooth pebble around his fingers and idly listened in as his cell mates grumbled and cursed their captors. The two Uluru felt cramped with the low ceiling, or so they told him, but he thought they struck lucky with the width of the room. Cadon didn't want to imagine being forced with them into a smaller space. He would have been crushed.

Their equipment had been stripped from them, and the Eliksni posted sharp-eyed guards outside the stone dungeon armed with shock rifles and spears. Escape was improbable. Cadon could hardly move with his pounding headache, brought on by a neurojammer just outside the cell, let alone take on a trained Vandal. Not that he'd try. He expected there to be an entire House in the city by now. Squatters

"If I could get my hands around his neck..." One of the Uluru, a Legionary, eyed the closest guard through the energy wall with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"What would happen if you did? Get us killed, that's what!" The second, a Phalanx, snapped. She'd stuffed herself far into a corner, feeling too exposed without her heavy shield. "There's two of the blighters, you idiot!"

"Weaver'd take out the other one. Right Weaver?" The Legionary turned to Cadon.

The Psion groaned. "There's an energy wall. They're armed with high-tracer energy rifles. We don't even have armour - just our biosuits. _And_ they're Eliksni. We aren't getting out. Stuff your dreams."

"Then we wait for rescue," the Legionary sat back, meaty arms folded.

 _Only if the Primus doesn't level the place first,_ Cadon thought. He'd been in the legions longer than most, even his brothers. He knew the grim realities of warfare, and what his comrades were capable of. There was a motto the officers liked to spout when the going to tough. _Life is cheap. Ours or the enemy's, doesn't matter._

As a Soulrazer, Cadon knew it only too well. Half his targets were fellow Cabal. His brothers knew it - Tlac killed his own fair share with his sharp mind and Orche supported them both with logistical support. Their parents had known it, when they were a part of the legions. Even before the empire inducted his people his ancestors were stressing that truth, crushing the worshippers of the Y goblet under heel.

If only he could reach out to his brothers... Cadon had begun to realize in recent years how much he relied on them. Orche was no fighter, but he could produce flawless strategies almost effortlessly. Tlac was a philosopher who tried to understand his enemies and identify their strengths, sniff out their weaknesses, and tear out their secrets. And Cadon took the shot. Always. He needed Orche's plans and Tlac's learnings to make that single fatal blow. It was a combination that had spelled the end for many a Knight. And traitor Cabal.

But he couldn't feel them. Cadon felt lightheaded and dizzy all the time - he must have hit his head during the fall. The neurojammer didn't help things. Ironically, it was likely the reason he was still alive. If he'd still had access to his psionic abilities the Eliksni would have killed him on the spot.

Not that being taken prisoner was a better fate. He'd heard nightmarish tales of what happened to those taken captive by the Great Houses of Riis. He expected to be tortured. If not, then to fight against wild beasts or even other prisoners for their entertainment. It depended on whether they thought they could gain anything from him or not.

Cadon wouldn't break, though. It wasn't a boast. He knew he could withstand whatever they could throw at him until they finally decided to cut his throat. He'd been conditioned by the Soulrazers to endure, no matter what.

A sudden crash broke through his thoughts, and he looked up in time to spot one of the guards being pummeled by... _something_ _._ The second raised his rifle, but before he could even fire another creature grappled with him and slammed the Vandal against the energy barrier. The Eliksni shrieked as the barrier surged into his body and fried his internals, and even when the guard was quite obviously dead the attacker still held him there until the barrier short-circuited.

The first attacker strolled into view and smiled at the Cabal. Cadon recoiled; it looked like a mechanical human, but something about its presence felt _wrong._

The second gave a laugh and tossed the dead Eliksni aside, though the guard should have weighed twice as much as his killer. That one was visually unlike the first, recognizably human but with bright colourful fur on its head and dilated eyes with red irises.

" _Deyja,_ " it whispered. Cadon suddenly felt as if an empty void had opened below him, pulling on his very soul. He and the Uluru collapsed lifelessly onto the cold stone floor.

**000**

Ikharos woke slowly. He felt comfortable where he was, despite the residual aches from some previous fight, and the lingering claws of slumber prevented him doing anything other than moving an arm and rearranging his pillow. His senses began to awaken, one by one, and he drearily opened his eyes to a blurred world.

A rapid clicking, muffled by stone walls, had him up with a start and what Light he could muster was already shaped into a weapon ready to-

It all came crashing down on him. Ikharos let go of the Void, cupped his face in his hands, and fell back. He only realized, seconds later, that someone must have removed his helmet. Probably Xiān. "Oh hell," he mumbled.

The snarky response he was looking for never came. Ikharos frowned and sat back up. He looked around, but Formora and Xiān were nowhere to be seen. He opened his mind and probed about, looking for her unmistakable Light signature, but he couldn't find it. It was like the world had been shrouded in a soft, velvety barrier around him. " _Where are you?_ "

She didn't answer him.

Ikharos reasoned that it was only an aftereffect of Light exhaustion. He still had to recuperate, recover what he'd used up. He certainly felt like it. If Xiān wanted to speak with him, then she'd have no problem reaching out. She had her own reserve of Light, far deeper than his. He didn't like not knowing where she was, but she was smart and resourceful. She'd sneak past the Scars without issue. Still, it didn't stop him from worrying.

Ikharos got to his feet and looked around. The room he was in must have been a luxurious suite, and it was illuminated in all its glory by a couple of dying candles and a single Fallen glowstick. A crate of alien design had been left in the middle of the room, and he spotted the motionless remains of Kida inside. It reassured him, in a way. It meant Xiān had been active recently. She was probably off on an errand.

 _Maybe Formora needed to talk to the Scars,_ he thought. She didn't use it as much as he did, but the Ghost was just as well-versed in the Eliksni dialects as Ikharos.

He caught a look at himself in a mirror on the other side of the room. Ikharos grimaced. He looked like a wreck. "No way to fix that," he muttered to himself. _No Glimmer._

He stood there, transfixed, and eventually reached up to his hair. It was long, matted down, and in dire need of a wash. His jaw had produced a wild, unkempt beard. With a sigh Ikharos drew his knife and set to work. He cut his hair short, leaving it ragged and untidy but by far an improvement. On a mere whim he decided to keep the beard, though he cut at it again and again to tidy it up. It was maybe half an hour before he was somewhat satisfied. He still needed a wash. And a comb too, but those were luxuries now, and he had little time for luxuries.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision - just movement on the edge of the mirror - prompted him to spin about with the business side of his knife pointed outwards, but the intruder was faster. He grunted as he was tossed through the mirror with a crash and bit down as shards cut at the back of his neck and head, but he gathered himself for a counterattack.

It was cut short when he felt the icy cold touch of a blade against his throat. A presence, foreign and hostile, threw itself at his own consciousness and coiled around him, constricting his will. It didn't pierce his solid defense, but Ikharos found he was held too tight to throw out his own attacks.

He glared up at the intruder, but he found himself thrown off by the sight of baleful red eyes. The Shade, a woman with her face shrouded by long crimson hair, stood dead still and didn't utter a word. She wore dark clothes but nothing special. Vermillion blood adorning her hands. She'd killed, and recently. Ikharos had a fair idea whose blood it was too.

"Not yet," a mechanical voice ordered. Ikharos' eyes darted to the second figure in the room. An Exo. The door behind the ExSec Exo was still closed. They'd teleported in. The Exo walked over to them and took Ikharos' knife from him, careful not to touch the crystallic dirk held by the Shade. The transhuman soldier wore a victorious grin, and his pink optics never left the Warlock. He held a silenced handgun.

"You're here..." Ikharos breathed. "But... how?" Then it dawned on him, and he glanced at the Shade.

"Yeah." The Exo nodded. "It goes both ways. Did you really think we'd miss all that Light? You made it really easy for us. My friend here picked up on it straight away."

"You know about Light?" Ikharos asked sharply.

"Yup." The Exo chuckled. "We've met your kind before."

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Psekisk."

"Though none of them were like you. You're different. Dangerous. I like how you dealt with..." The Exo frowned and gestured to the side, "whatever those big things are."

"The Cabal."

The robot clicked his fingers. "Yes, them! You really showed them, eh?" His optics widened. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Deacon-3. I've been following you for a while now. You're interesting. More interesting than those other Lightbearers, that's for certain."

Ikharos didn't reply.

"I know who you are. Ikharos, right?" Ikharos stiffened with surprise. The Exo nodded. "Yes it is. I guess those farmers were telling the truth."

"What farmers?" Ikharos blurted.

"Some hamlet to the west, I think?"

Ikharos ground his teeth. "You... bastard. You did it."

"Huh? Oh, you found them?" Deacon-3 tilted his head. "Wait a second... you cared about them. You did, didn't you? Aw, dammit. Sorry."

"Sorry?" The Warlock echoed with disbelief. "Sorry?!"

The Shade pressed her blade closer. Ikharos quickly shut up. The weapon felt Dark. Fatally so. "No," she whispered ever so softly. He got the message.

"Well, that's blown it." Deacon offlined his optics. "And here I was, hoping to talk you into helping us."

"As if," Ikharos hissed.

"C'mon, it's a great deal! You're a Warlock, right? The scholarly type. Yeah, the others talked before they, uh... met an untimely end. You can do all the research you want. You can learn about Light and Dark and whatever else you like. If you swear to serve the Master."

"You think I want to research?! I want to help people!"

"We are helping people."

"You're killing them!"

Deacon sighed dramatically. "The others were weak. They didn't last a month. All bluster and nothing else. But you, you are interesting. You move fast, you cover your tracks well, you almost kill poor Durza, and then you tear your way into our city. You even put down Qortho. That's impressive. We could really use that. But..."

"Are you going to kill me for your Ahamkara?"

"For Qortho?" Deacon shook his head. "Goodness, no. He was only a fancy lizard, and we've got more." The Exo jutted his thumb over his shoulder. "Hell, we even have one here. Want to say hi?"

Ikharos didn't dare answer.

"No?" Deacon shrugged. "Suit yourself."

"Why are you doing this?" Ikharos questioned. "Why-"

"Why help an alien god kill my fellow humans?" Deacon asked. Ikharos nodded after a moment's hesitation. "Because he's a god of his word. Because he's going to save us."

"From what?!"

"The Hive. The Darkness. By serving it, we don't die to it. Humanity can live on. C'mon now, don't tell me you haven't thought about it! What's the Traveler been doing for the past million years, huh? Running. Leaving a trail of broken civilizations."

"That's because-"

"Of the Hive, yes," Deacon finished. "We know. When he arrived, Nezarec took us aside and told us all about the Hive. All about the Dark. And he's only ever spoken the truth. If we get rid of the Traveler, the Dark won't have a reason to kill us. If we kill the Hive, we won't be under threat anymore."

"What do you think is going to happen afterwards? With all your built up power, what then?"

"We thrive. Humanity will hold out to the very end. This is a good thing," Deacon told him. "We're evolving. As a species, we're taking the next step, and at what cost? A few lives? An age of not-so-happy-people? We're not shattering worlds. We're not driving entire species to extinction. We're just making the necessary sacrifice so we can live. So we can prosper. So we can win and reclaim what we lost. Is that not noble?"

"You're a monster," Ikharos bit back.

Deacon sighed. "You don't get it yet. Okay, how about this. We're meant to be bigger than just itty-bitty mortals. Humans are _meant_ to be immortal. Look at you! Look at her! Look at me! We won't die like those other humans do. This is our destiny. We just need to grab hold of it. It'll be hard, but we'll get there, and our people will be all the better for it."

One thing nagged at Ikharos. " _You're_ immortal?"

Deacon smiled again. "Oh, yeah. I mean, not in the same way as you two," he motioned between Ikharos and the Shade, "but I can-"

"Stop," the Shade told him. She pointed at the Fallen crate.

Deacon followed her eyes and huffed. "Just a dead Frame."

"Not yours."

"... No." Deacon approached it warily. "Have you been up to no good, Ikharos? Have you been telling tales to ol' Skip?"

Ikharos said nothing.

Deacon stood over the crate and shook his head. "Yeah, just as I said, it's dead. Offline, whatever. It won't pose a-"

"R5 emergency activation!" Ikharos suddenly shouted. A tiny insectoid shape leapt from the crate and slammed into Deacon's chest. The Exo managed to vocalize a single yelp before the restraint spider activated. His weapon, and more importantly Ikharos' knife, fell to the ground with a clatter.

Another two jumped out, following the first, and skittered straight towards the Shade. One leapt at her, and she used her glassy blade to bisect it down the centre, but the second latched onto her arm. Ikharos used the distraction to dash away, and he slid across the ground and scooped up his knife.

The Shade saw him, but she was preoccupied with the robot arachnid. Ikharos didn't even have to think about it; he tossed the knife just like he'd been taught.

* * *

_"You've got to pinch the back of the blade."_

_"Not the middle?"_

_"Sure, go ahead. Pinch the middle."_

_Ikharos held the back of the knife between his fingers. "You're the Hunter."_

_"Well observed," Lennox grinned. "Now... bend your wrist back toward your forearm. Yes, like that. Pick a target."_

_"The Baron."_

_"Thick helmet? You break my knife, you'll pay for it."_

_"Vandal, then."_

_"Good boy. Place your weight on your dominant leg. Dominant leg. Dominant leg. Sweet Traveler above, dominant leg!"_

_"This is my dominant leg!" Ikharos complained._

_"Then you don't know what dominant means!" Lennox slapped his shoulder. "Other leg! Damn Warlocks..."_

_Ikharos grumbled under his breath._

_"Raise your arm. Bend your elbow. Don't cut yourself."_

_"I'm not going to cut myself."_

_"Sure you won't. When you swing forward, don't throw it like a ball. Oh, and, uh, remember to release the knife, or you'll lose a toe."_

_"Got it."_

_"Throw."_

_"..."_

_"..."_

_"Uh..."_

_"You know, if there was another bad guy standing twenty feet to the side of the first Vandal, he'd be super dead."_

_"Shut up."_

* * *

He struck true. The Shade's mouth opened in a soundless scream as the knife pierced her heart. She stared at him in disbelief. The restraint spider took advantage of the distraction, but by then she was already done for. She dropped her dirk and the crystal shard clattered to the stone floor. The Shade's skin turned transparent, fully this time, and Ikharos only just glimpsed five slithered shapes encased in shadow beneath, each of them convulsing violently.

With one true cry, the Shade's pale skin erupted and the slivers of Darkness shot out. They shot past the Guardian and slipped under the wooden door, disappearing from view. Nothing else remained of the Dark creature, aside from her cursed weapon and Ikharos' knife.

Ikharos picked himself up and walked over to Deacon. The Exo's optics were wide open, but he couldn't even activate his vocalizer. His body was dead stiff, utterly trapped within the spider's containment field. Ikharos savoured the moment and grimaced. "You morons think you own the world. You think you can go anywhere, kill anyone, do whatever the hell you want. Not any more."

He picked up the Exo's handgun. It wasn't the kind of weapon he liked to carry around (not enough of a kick), but here it would get the job down. "This world isn't your plaything anymore."

Deacon didn't say a word. He physically couldn't. Ikharos didn't care. He saw all he needed in the robot's pink optics. Without ceremony the Warlock put a bullet in the Exo's head. The restraint spider pulled back. Its sibling, who'd survived the Shade, joined it in the middle of the room and stood still. A single green light situated in the centre of each drone looked up at him expectantly.

"Deactivate," Ikharos ordered. The spiders folded up into small discs, which he then proceeded to collect.

A distant roar made him flinch, but it had to be on the other side of the castle. Ikharos quickly set about gathering what he could, though without his Ghost, it wasn't much. " _Xiān, where the hell are you?!_ "

He didn't get any reply. Those soft barriers surrounding his mind were still in place. They felt like a thick smog, which made it difficult to ascertain where he was reaching out. He couldn't distinguish _where_ other consciousnesses were. Even if he did miraculously find one, there was no telling who it might be. Ikharos didn't want to have a run in with another Shade, so he pulled back and fortified his mind.

His gathering efforts bore fruit, and he was happy to have more than a single gun in hand. Kida's pulse rifle - a Golden Age Baryon MSc - was untouched and the Frame's body still had a few magazines on it. Ikharos shouldered the Frame's fusion cannon over his back, pocketed the handgun and hefted the pulse rifle. He recovered his knife and, on a whim, collected the Shade's glass-like weapon. It was cool to the touch and frictionless, like ice. The edge was deadly sharp. It reeked of Darkness, but the paracausality within was contained. The edge was the medium through which the power could be channeled. As long as he avoided cutting himself, he reckoned he would be fine.

Last came his sword, which he strapped over his back alongside the fusion cannon. Armed to the teeth, Ikharos slowly, and quietly, opened the door to his room and peeked out. The corridor was empty of hostiles, but a dead Dreg lay slouched against a wall a few paces away. Its throat had been cut open in a vicious manner. The Shade's handiwork, Ikharos presumed. Her or one of her cohorts.

**000**

Cadon awoke with a whine. Everything _hurt_ _._ He felt like a Witch had crawled into his mind and ran its sickle claws all over his soul. Yet he was alive. _Alive._ He'd survived whatever it was the strange human did, but only just.

His compatriots weren't so lucky.

With a start he realized his mind felt... broader than earlier. The neurojammer had been shattered during the earlier fight. It lay in broken pieces just outside his cell, scattered beneath the body of a guard. Even so, he felt around him and found himself cordoned off from everything. He still couldn't feel his brothers!

But the cell was opened. A rifle on the ground caught his eye, and he scrambled for it. A quick look around confirmed that the guards were dead and their killers had moved on. He didn't see anyone else. Cadon knew he was in the keep, but he didn't know where exactly. He hadn't spent enough time in the human city to memorize it all. He picked a direction at random and started running.

**000**

"He bore a letter with the king's signature, I couldn't-"

"Quiet!" Formora snapped. She closed her eyes and focused entirely on her hearing. It sounded like... a roar. And then something else, something close. A crunch.

" _Something's wrong!_ " Xiān burst out. " _I can't feel Ikharos!_ "

"He's dead?" Formora asked sharply. She ignored Tarrant's renewed ramblings, her gaze fixed on the door. Whatever the sound was, it was close enough to worry her.

" _No, he... I don't know! I just can't reach him! There's something in the way!_ "

Formora glanced at her captive. " _Sitja hérna,_ " she instructed. He didn't know the words, but he understood what she wanted. "Or I'll hunt you down."

The nobleman rapidly bobbed his head, eyes scrunched up with pain.

Formora left him there and raced out into the hallway outside. She ran up the stairs to the first floor. She found the first corpse at the top of the stairwell. It was one of the castle servants, his head twisted about at a sickening angle. A dead Eliksni lay not far away, having been run through with a sword. It's armour hadn't held in the slightest, which led her to a number of conclusions, none of which were pleasant to think about. And not one boded well for her

" _Dammit!_ " Xiān suddenly swore. She'd disappeared from view, still somehow with Formora.

"What is it?" Formora whispered. She looked over her shoulder. The dead had been taken by surprise. She strove to not make the same mistake.

" _Communications are jammed. Can't reach Ikharos. Or the Scars._ "

"Let me," Formora reached out with a mental probe, but almost immediately found herself blocked off by a strange barrier. It was like a curtain lowered all around her. It was a miracle that she could even hear and feel Xiān's presence. "I... can't..." Formora frowned. "Something here is blocking me."

" _That's not good._ "

"What do we do?"

" _Find the Scars. Quickly._ "

"Not Ikharos?"

" _We need to raise the alarm before whatever this is kills everyone. Ikharos can hold out for- Behind you!_ "

Formora spun around and knocked aside a sword thrust with her shield and flicked out her own blade. Vaeta's edge gouged out a deep wound in the creature's chest, and it retreated with a snarl. The Shade, a man she didn't recognize, sneered at her. "Elf," he spat. His free hand delicately cradled his fresh wound, which bled a dark misty substance.

Formora froze. Xiān took issue with that. " _Kill it, quick!_ "

She moved on instinct rather than any predetermined plan and closed the distance between herself and the Shade. Formora expected to be assailed by its overpowering mind, but it never came. She realized that the barrier around her mind affected the Shade too.

The twisted monster grimaced as he was forced to mount a frantic defensive. " _Malthinae älfrinn!_ " He hissed.

Formora felt a pressure push down on her wards and was forced to remove them lest they drain her of all her energy. A force grasped her and held her in place. " _Brakka du vanyalí sem huildar edtha!_ " She shot back. The magic in his spell lessened considerably, allowing her to resume moving, albeit sluggishly. As time went on, his spell grew weaker and weaker until it failed altogether.

He didn't have time to use another. Formora, in a fit of imagination, fell back on what Ikharos had taught her and managed to sharpen her intention into a blade, which she forced into the real world in the form of Arc. Her empty left hand cupped the energy and brushed against the Shade. The result she sought was immediate, and the Shade cried out as the potent energy surged through him. His sword arm spasmed and his guard failed, allowing her a clear thrust to the heart.

As the Shade fell apart and the spirits held within were released, Formora leaned against the wall and tried to catch her breath.

" _Well done,_ " Xiān told her proudly. Formora felt an immediate rush of gratitude towards the little spirit. Without her, she'd be dead.

"Thank you," Formora muttered.

" _No problem. Now we need to-_ "

"No!" A new voice shouted. Formora twirled around, but the second Shade had already reached her. The dark creature slammed her to the ground mercilessly, and she cried out something inside gave way. The Shade reared above her and brandished her sword.

A tiny lightning bolt tore through the Shade's head, and the once-human evaporated into thin air. Formora looked down the hallway, and her rescuer stared back, Eliksni weapon still aimed in her direction. She'd never anything like it before. It was the same height as she was and had the same amount of limbs, but that was where the similarities ended. It had a bald, veined head, with a single orange eye surrounded by black trident-shaped creases. Its pupil was in the shape of a Y. It had a series of tiny holes above its thin mouth and no nose. No ears either. All it wore was a tight suit composed of a sleek grey material she didn't recognize.

Formora didn't dare move. The rifle looked slightly oversized for the creature, but it didn't seem to mind. The gun's barrel never wavered.

" _It's a Psion,_ " Xiān whispered. " _They're part of the Cabal empire. This one hasn't any armour, though. Don't attack; it's too fast._ "

"Human?" It eventually asked in a high-pitched voice. It spoke in an unnervingly smooth manner.

She nodded after a moment's hesitation. She didn't agree with Ikharos on that matter, but now was hardly the time to discuss it.

The creature moved onto its next question. "What's happening?"

"We're under attack," she answered quickly.

"From whom?"

"Shades."

"Those humans are Shades?"

Formora shook her heads. "They're not human. Not anymore."

A furious roar interrupted them, and Formora flinched, but it was some distance away. Even so, it sounded deeper and angrier than even the Eliksni.

"Get up, human," the one-eyed creature ordered. "You will lead me out of this place. Drop your gun and stand up slowly, or I will shoot you."

" _Xiān?_ "

" _Psions are damn good shots, and that shock rifle will track you. Play along for now._ "

**000**

Kiphoris was woken up by a struggle. His eyes flew open when something crashed into his bed, and he growled deeply, but his anger was soon overcome by shock when he found that it was one of his guards being strangled by a metal human. The Exo's powerful digits dug in deep and, with a pop that made his bile rise, punctured the Vandal's throat.

Kiphoris acted as quickly as he could. He smashed the side of the Exo's sleek skull with a clenched fist and grabbed hold of it. It bucked as hard as it could in effort to break free as the Captain dragged it over, but Kiphoris wasn't deterred. He winced as its heavy fists slammed into his sides, but he persisted and dug in at its metal plating with his claws. In a savage movement that mirrored the Exo's own kill, he dug his claws into the robot's neck and sliced through a dozen wires. The Exo's struggles weakened, but it never truly stopped until Kiphoris had practically torn off its head.

He gasped and inhaled as much air as he could, his broken knee burning with renewed pain. He looked around the room, left aghast by the scene that greeted him. His guards were dead, as well as the Splicer that had been tending to him. Each had been brutally slaughtered with a skilled precision that both horrified and impressed him. They must have been taken out within moments of one another, otherwise they would have swarmed the Exo. Even the last guard, who fought to his last breath to protect his Captain, lay dead in a pool of his own blood. He'd bled out while Kiphoris dealt with the attacker.

The Captain waited for other Scars to rush in, but none came. A cold feeling settled in his stomach. He activated his radio, but no matter which channel he tried, he received nothing but static in return.

With as much effort as he could muster, Kiphoris forced himself into a sitting position and tried to stand up. He fell, of course, when his injured leg loudly gave out. Kiphoris hissed with pain, but he resorted to using his hands to drag himself along. He reached the bodies of one of the guards by the door and looted the poor Scar's pistols, tucking them into his bandolier. To his relief he found grenades too, and packed those away immediately.

He grabbed the dead guard's shock spear and switched off the Arc generator, then removed the blade. He used an activated shock dagger as a plasma cutter and sliced off a portion of the steel pole. He cut himself a few strips from his own cloak and used the pole to splint his leg.

Kiphoris dug his claws into the stone wall and forced himself to his feet. His knee screamed in protest and he didn't doubt that if he managed to reach the Scars he'd get an earful from whichever Splicer treated him, but that was a problem for later. With one last look around the wide room, he hobbled out the door with knife and shock pistol in hand.

The outside was just as grim. He found more bodies spaced about. It wasn't the handiwork of brave warriors but ruthless assassins. They'd mowed through whichever Scars they found on their path, and the trail they left indicated that they were moving towards the central keep.

Kiphoris' initial thoughts were that it was the Light-Thief's handiwork. This human world didn't possess the technology to make Exos. However, it didn't sit right with him. The Exo he killed didn't use Light, and more importantly it didn't get back up. It wasn't a Light-Thief, and though they were pack-hunters, Light-Thieves preferred to work with their own kind. Besides, the killer he met was an Exo. Only Exo Light-Thieves left the city below the Traveler. The mortal kind never left the safety of their walled city, content to live below the shadow of the Great Machine.

Not Ikharos, he decided. It was a disappointment, but he was glad for it. The idea of fighting a Light-Thief was not appealing. Even without their powers they were a force to be reckoned with, as he had so recently learned.

Kiphoris' sense of smell couldn't pick up anything other than the heavy scent of blood, but he heard a sudden rustle of boots over a carpet just around the corner. He pressed up against the wall by the corner and primed his pistol to fire. Closer... closer...

He leapt around at the same time as the stranger and only just stopped himself from pulling the trigger.

"Oh," the Light-Thief said in Low Eliksni, a mixture of relief and unhappiness. "It's you."

Kiphoris let out a shaky breath and braced an arm against the wall. He was too frazzled to amass his hatred. "You're alive," he noted in a bland voice.

"Only just," Ikharos admitted. The Light-Thief had dark shadows under his eyes, and his neck was crusty with dried blood. He'd been in a fight. "You?"

"One of your people attacked me," Kiphoris began.

Ikharos shook his head almost violently. "Not mine. No way in hell are they mine. They're Dark."

That... caught Kiphoris by surprise. He narrowed his inner eyes. "What do you mean 'Dark'?"

The Light-Thief sighed exhaustively. "You know, Dark. Like the Hive."

"They have powers of the Maw?"

"The Maw? Oh, yeah, no. Not exactly." The Light-Thief suddenly froze. "What attacked you? Exo or Shade?"

"Exo. Shade?"

"You got lucky, then. Shade's are the Dark guys."

Kiphoris growled. He certainly hadn't been 'lucky'. "It killed mine-guards."

"They've probably killed a lot more than that," Ikharos replied. "And will continue to do so. Where's Formora?"

"Why should I know?"

"Dammit," the Light-Thief muttered. "She must have my Ghost with her."

Kiphoris' eyes widened with surprise. "You are mortal." His finger tightened around the trigger. "I could kill you now..."

Ikharos angrily glanced up at him. "Or you can help me and save your people. Make your choice."

That gave him pause. To his shame Kiphoris actually _considered_ it, and he caught himself before he made the wrong choice. He closed his outer eyes. "So be it," he hissed. "What do you propose, thief?"

Ikharos scowled, yet he dropped the barrel of his rifle. "What do you think? We need to alert your Scars. My radio's jammed, so I don't know what to do. I don't know how many intruders there are. There could be more outside. Where's Tarrhis?"

"The great hall," Kiphoris realized. Worry twisted a knot in his stomach. "The assassins make for the great hall!"

"Psekisk. What about Sundrass?"

"She's with him." His worry only increased.

"Fuck sake," the Light-Thief cursed in English. "Is there anyone else? Kell or Archon?"

"Archon is beyond reach and Kell is only a hatchling. Neither can help."

"How do you people even survive?!"

Kiphoris growled. "Palkra, another Captain, is bound to be close. And Nyreks commands those defending the city. If they yet live, then they can help us."

"We need to reach them first..." Ikharos trailed off. "Is there any fancy tech you guys have for that?"

"If all radios _are_ jammed then I doubt we can... Servitors. Servitors! We find a Servitor, it can send a message to its siblings!"

"How?" The Light-Thief asked, perplexed.

"They communicate with waves in the Void. It cannot be disrupted."

"Void waves... That'll do it. Know where one is?"

"Yes, in the storeroom. But if it's dead-"

"If it's dead, I'll take care of it," Ikharos told him firmly. Kiphoris, for a moment, allowed himself to be reassured by the human's confident words. His mistrust cut it short, but that mistrust was just as short-lived. He'd given into his survival instincts and now thought only in the matter of practicality. The Light-Thief, as loathe as he was to admit it, was his best chance.

"If you say so," Kiphoris grunted and took a step back. His leg shrieked with every movement. "Come. The storeroom is this way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Special thanks to Nomad Blue!


	29. And Longer Knives

"I count two. Exo and Shade"

"Three. I smell another of your Shades inside. With a prisoner." Kiphoris growled softly. "One of mine-banner."

"Hostage?"

"I do not think so."

"It's not torture. We would've heard screams by now. I wonder what they're up to..."

"Tell me about Shades."

Ikharos shrugged. "Strong, fast, and halfway immortal - kind of like me," he whispered. "Stab the heart and they die for good, otherwise they'll come back. Best to kill them as quick as you can because... well, they know magic."

"Light?"

"No. Something else. It's in language form. They can kill with only a couple of words." Ikharos fidgeted; he was getting impatient. Kiphoris hobbled back behind the corner to where the Light-Thief hid and deactivated his cloaking device. "Fusion cannon probably won't kill them for good, but we might have time to catch our breath before they do."

"It would damage the Servitor," Kiphoris argued.

"I was about to say that. I could Blink in, but I'd be lucky to just kill one. The Exo would shoot me down, or the Shade'll use its sword. Could you cover me?"

"With a wire rifle, perhaps, but we do not possess one," Kiphoris grumbled. He'd have liked to have his own weapons, but they were in his personal Skiff. "Is your rifle accurate?"

"Not as much as I'd like. It's Golden Age. Anti-insurgency, not creatures of Darkness. Or ExSec transhuman infantry. It'll work, but not the way I'd prefer."

"Your pistols?"

"Empty. Apart from this." He held up a silenced pistol. "I don't know if it'll put down a Shade. Certainly not an Exo."

"Why is it humans always create the most irritating of monsters..." Kiphoris complained. "War machines, Light-Thieves, and now-"

"Don't call me that," Ikharos told him in a dark tone that brooked no argument. "Don't."

Kiphoris glared at him for a second, then went back to sorting through his weaponry. A pair of knives, three pistols and a few grenades. Aside from the explosives, the weapons were better equipped for close-quarters. If only the Light-Thief hadn't broken his...

The idea struck him with all the clarity that the Great Machine could bestow. He swiftly turned to Ikharos and said, "Have you recovered your Light?"

"Not enough to kill, if that's what you're thinking. Anything substantial and any Shade in the area will pick up on it. I don't know how many there are, but I don't think we want to take that chance."

"Heal what you broke." Before Ikharos could respond, he continued. "If we ambush them together, there will only be one left. I will use my cloaking generator."

"That's... as good a plan as any," the human sighed. After a moment of conflicted hesitation, Ikharos held out a palm full of golden Light and pushed the essence in Kiphoris' direction. Kiphoris stiffened; magic never ceased to amaze and frighten him, be it Light, Awoken illusions, or Hive madness. He had to force himself to remain still as the golden energy reached him, but he was reassured when the comforting presence permeated through his being. He expected pain of some sort as chitin and bones were realigned and flesh repaired, but there was none of that. Not even a feeling of discomfort. It was a blissful sensation, and over quicker than he imagined possible.

"Don't make me regret this," Ikharos warned him.

Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes, but refused to give the human what would have been a scathing retort. He was noble and above this pettiness. It stung to think that it had been the Light-Thief who taught him that valuable lesson.

He removed his splint and gingerly move his leg. It felt as strong as ever. "I will strike first," Kiphoris grunted, and activated his cloaking generator.

Kiphoris slipped around the corner and slowly prowled down the hallway, making doubly sure that he breathed shallowly and his claws didn't clack against the floor. The two humanoid creatures didn't notice him, though from how they moved and looked around he knew they were on alert. The Exo idly cleaned its combat knife, which had been stained with Scar blood.

The Shade started speaking in a low voice, and the words only just managed to reach Kiphoris. "Where's Verlaz? He should be here!"

"Maybe he got distracted," the Exo droned in a monotone voice. "I wouldn't be surprised."

The Shade turned on his companion. "Are you insinuating something?"

"Yes."

The Shade leaned dangerously close to the mechanical human. "Care to voice your concerns?"

The Exo glared right back. "We could have already been finished here, but instead your guys want to turn this into a bloodbath. It's unnecessary."

"It sends a message."

"Do we need to send a message? No. We wanted a controlled chaos, but instead we've got this wild mess."

The Shade glowered. "The Master's message must reach these vermin. And it will."

Kiphoris was close now. He inched closer and closer, almost in range, and... he pounced. His knife found the Shade's back and ripped through the inhuman creature's flesh, emerging from the other side with an eruption of dark mist.

"What the-" The Exo began, but Ikharos had blinked beside him and smashed his fist into the robot's sleek skull with a dull crunch. The metal buckled and cracked, and the revealed shattered circuity spat sparks. Ikharos caught the body and carefully lowered it to the floor.

Kiphoris would have done the same if the Shade hadn't begun to disintegrate on him. Slivers of smog darted out and flew down the hallway, but the rest of the creature fell apart into fine grains of silvery dust.

He and the Light-Thief looked at one another and glanced to the storeroom's door. With a nod Ikharos led the way inside.

The Shade sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, her eyes shut and scrunched. She quietly chanted something that unnerved Kiphoris. It reminded him of the chatter of the machines as they prostrated themselves before the fruits of their gardens. Before her, restrained to a chair, a Dreg shuddered and struggled against his bonds. He gave Kiphoris a desperate look. " _Kiphoris-Veskirisk!_ "

The Shade's eyes shot open and she leapt to her feet, but it was too late. Ikharos had already plunged his own dagger into her heart and then ruthlessly kicked her aside.

"No!" The Shade cried out. " _Waíse hérna, pessu! Eka hàvr vanta abr onr!_ "

And then, like her sibling outside, she crumbled away and dissipated into the air. Kiphoris stepped forward to release the Scar.

"Wait!" Ikharos hissed. Something in his voice gave Kiphoris pause. "Don't move!"

Kiphoris looked around. The storeroom was a mess. Bodies lined the floor and shrapnel had shredded almost everything else. The Servitor, to his dismay, lay broken at the very end. There was a steady purple figure in its dying eye, but Kiphoris knew it was gone. Perhaps even more worrying were the wisps of violet rising from its cracked shell. He checked that his rebreather was secure. It wouldn't do to choke on Void venom.

At that moment a small cluster of shining orbs raced into the room behind them, flitting over their shoulders and hovering up at the ceiling. They flew about and glowed angrily with an assortment of colour, but before Kiphoris could even ask the human what they were, an angry red - streaked with insidious black - enveloped the three orbs. A deep hum filled the air, and Kiphoris strained to hold still as the volume steadily increased. He grimaced as a taste like burning steel landed upon his tongue. Energy crackled in the air, threatening to fry them all, but Ikharos quickly held up a palm and warded it away with his Light.

The Dreg wasn't near as lucky as they, and yet he did not die. Not even when the orbs lowered and arrayed themselves around him. Before Kiphoris could shoot down the strange entities, before he could even cry out a warning, the orbs let loose a light too intense to look at directly. Kiphoris shielded his eyes with a raise arm. It lasted for all of a few seconds.

When it ended, the orbs were gone. And the Dreg stood upright, free of his restraints, looking at Kiphoris with four glowing red eyes. The Dreg smiled.

**000**

"This way," Formora muttered. The Psion gave no indication of having heard her.

The roars that had once been so distant were getting louder the closer they got to the main hall. They'd found more bodies along the way, a mix of human and Eliksni. Some had been slain by sword, leading her to believe that the Shade hadn't been alone, or gun, which was a startling and frankly nerve-wracking revelation.

"Hold," the Psion whispered. They stood before a servant's entrance running alongside the great hall. There were sounds of struggle and gunfire within, muffled by stone. Every moment played at Formora's rekindled fear of Galbatorix's penchant for twisted servants.

" _If something happens, I'll drop you a weapon,_ " Xiān promised her. " _Psions are fast. They'll dance circles around their foes, but they can't take a hit. Don't bother with magic; he's stronger than you in that respect._ "

" _Have you encountered them before?_ "

" _Ikharos and I have had... ample experience with Cabal. There's a reason why they have the largest empire around._ "

Formora could see it, watching the Psion. He moved with an inhuman precision, as swift as Ikharos and Eliksni. Her people had held an advantage over all other races in Alagaësia - barring dragons - because of their natural gifts and prowess with magic, but it was not the same elsewhere. Weapons that killed from afar in an instant, metal vessels that flew effortlessly through the skies, and abilities the likes of which put her own magic to shame. It painted a brutal picture, and now it was spreading to her own home.

Formora froze still and listened carefully. She could hear something like... yes, the steady clicking of hooves on cobbled stone. It was remarkably familiar, but something was wrong, and she stopped in place, suddenly suspicious.

Claws pierced through the door. Formora reeled back. The wood splintered and was almost effortlessly torn away. The light of moon and city lanterns filtered through, illuminating the frame of the creature before them. It held itself proudly, a creature of thick pelt and heavy muscle, and it easily stood as high as great Tarrhis had. It only had two arms; however, they were as thick as tree trunks and tipped with long, spindly claws. Its legs were digitigrade, with hooves, and looked powerful enough to crack stone. Its body was covered in thick, coarse fur that appeared to drink in the light around it, but it receded from its head to reveal a grotesque, long skull locked in an eternal grin. The eye sockets were shadowed, preventing her from knowing if it could even see her. Large antlers sprouted from the back of its skull like a terrible crown. A long, slimy tongue slithered out of its jagged fangs as it scrutinized the two before it.

It leaned a hand against the door frame and drummed its long fingers against the stonework. Each clack sent shivers down her spine.

It opened its maw and hissed, "I can taste your _(dreams)._ "

Formora shuddered with fear. The last word had echoed within her very mind.

" _Run!_ " Xiān cried out. Formora did exactly that, and the Psion followed suit. Behind her, the creature of nightmares laughed. A mere moment later, she looked back to see it squeeze through the doorway and stomp after them.

**000**

"You've got to be joking," Ikharos growled. The Dreg lifted its hands before its eyes and seemed rather disappointed to find its lower pair docked. Its smile died away, and when it looked up it was glaring at them.

"He is a Shade." Beside him, Kiphoris stared in horror at the thing that had once been a Scar.

"Yeah," the Warlock agreed, and raised his pistol, but the Dreg was faster. It picked up the dead Shade's sword and barreled into him. Ikharos tumbled back and found his feet. When he looked up, Kiphoris was already locked in combat against his former comrade.

The new Shade was stronger than a Dreg had any right to be, and the Captain visibly struggled to hold him off with only a pair of knives. Though he did far better than Ikharos would have expected of even a minor Fallen noble. Someone had trained Kiphoris personally. Ikharos had noticed it during their earlier duel - the Captain was more than just skilled with a sword; it was like he was born to wield them.

With a snarl the Dreg swept in with his broadsword at a savage angle, and though Kiphoris had raised his guard, the force of the blow knocked him off his feet and hurtled him against the storeroom wall.

Ikharos fired, but the Dreg had moved at the last moment and the bullet merely tore through the corrupted Eliksni's body. The creature twirled around, a smoking hole in its chest, and with a wild cry it charged him. Ikharos dropped the Lumina and parried the first attack - aimed at his head - with his knife and with his other hand drew Orúm. The purple blade glittered in the dim light of the downed Servitor's eye, and it swayed beautifully when he moved. It was a writhing serpent, striking again and again with every thrust.

He employed every trick he had, but the Dreg was quick to adapt. Their swords clashed horribly, and Ikharos used the chance to lock their guards together.

"We will flay the Light from your bones and devour it!" The Shade shrieked in Eliksni.

"Of course you will..." Ikharos muttered, grimacing. His muscles strained against the power of the Shade, so he allowed his defence to be swatted aside. In the split second before the Dreg ran him through, his knife darted between them. The Dreg gave a howl and stumbled back, the blade in its outer right eye. It didn't, however, leave it's defense open as he'd hoped, and when Ikharos thought to press the advantage, it recovered from the pain and parried his attack.

The Dreg warded him away and tore out the knife with a grunt. It glared at him with its remaining three blue orbs. "We will make you-"

Kiphoris slammed into the Dreg with all his might, daggers stabbing and claws slashing. The Dreg recovered quickly and fought back just as savagely, tearing at the Wolf's armour and exposed chitin. They rolled across the floor, and Ikharos rushed to keep up.

The Dreg was a storm of violence, one that even the Wolf could not hope to contain. The larger Eliksni was thrown off the Shade and, with a groan, rose to his feet. Not quite finished, the Dreg screamed. " _Jierda!_ "

A wave of energy shot forth and crashed into the Captain, smashing him against the far wall hard enough that the stone cracked. A huge cloud of dust was kicked up, and Ikharos, not for the last time, lamented the absence of a helmet.

"Now you!" The Dreg pointed the steel sword at him. Its edge had been notched and dulled, but he was under no illusions that it was no longer dangerous.

His knife was... somewhere. Ikharos hesitated, not quite comfortable armed with a single weapon, and then drew the crystal dirk. It felt cold, despite his insulated gauntlets, and surged with potential power. Power that could kill even him.

The Dreg rushed him, sending out a flurry of blows. He deflected what he could and dodged away from the rest. His armour, damaged as it was, was invaluable on the occasions the Fallen broke through his defense. The resilient Reefborn woven fabric saved a couple of his organs, and provided him with the chances to recover and fall back.

Even so, he knew he was losing. The Dreg was simply too strong and he had too little Light. The glassy weapon came in handy, however, and he made strong use of it as a parrying dagger. It felt... good, somehow. Right. A thought affirmed itself in his mind: the dagger belonged in a fight. It _grew_ through violence. That in itself triggered a couple of internal warnings, but with an Eliksni Shade tearing at him, he judged it unimportant.

The Dreg feinted and Ikharos never saw it coming. A fist collided with his side, forcing the breath out of him. The Shade followed up with a knee to the stomach, and Ikharos collapsed. The Dreg grabbed him by the neck and slammed him against a pillar. He tried to retaliate with another stab to the head, but his foe anticipated it and slapped his hand aside, forcing the dirk from his grip. Not to be outdone, Ikharos brought Orúm's pommel against the Dreg's shoulder with a satisfying crunch.

The Shade snarled and let go, just for a moment, and kicked him hard as he dropped. Ikharos grunted as his opponent placed another kick into his flank, and he felt like something inside was about to give. He brought Orúm about in a final, desperate attack, but again the Shade was prepared and it effortlessly disarmed him.

"Shit," Ikharos swore, before the Dreg lifted him up and forced the steel blade between his ribs. It went right through and into the pillar behind him. It leaned in close, giving him the Fallen equivalent of a grin.

"You will feed us," it promised darkly, and it opened its fang filled maw.

Ikharos grabbed its face with a fist full of purple fire. The Dreg screamed and scrambled away, bringing its sword with it. A spurt of blood followed the steel weapon and Ikharos dropped down. He was in the worst scenario possible - unarmed, low on Light, and bleeding out. And currently Ghostless. The last part scared him most. He crawled for his sword, and he heard the Dreg come after him. His fingers brushed against Orúm's quillon and... there!

He rolled over and thrust forward, right into the heart of the pouncing Dreg. The Shade shrieked, and loudly, but to Ikharos' dismay did not die.

He only just caught sight of a ripple in the air behind the Shade before a glass blade poked through the Dreg, right where its second heart was located. The Shade gave him a three-eyed stared of disbelief, then slumped over. It fell apart as mist and a cloud of fine particles.

Kiphoris uncloaked above him. The Captain held out one of his hands. Ikharos gladly took it. He hissed through clenched teeth as it jostled the hole in his chest. "Thanks," he breathed raggedly.

The Wolf gave him an almost imperceptible nod. " _Hulunkles?_ "

"What does it look like?" He huffed and pressed a glowing hand against his open wound, then exhaled with relief as the pain receded. "That's better. You?"

" _Nama._ Only scratches and scars." Kiphoris closed his eyes. "Mine-House will tell me to bear them with pride."

"Pride? We killed a Dreg, and only just."

"... Pride isn't what matters here."

Ikharos chuckled. Shades made Fallen, even giants like the Captain, seem a lot less threatening. "Unsung heroes, the pair of us." He looked around. "Traveler above... this is a mess."

"Servitor's dead," Kiphoris reported bitterly. He held up the crystal dirk for a closer inspection. "You said you could do something?"

Ikharos groaned. "Yeah, I'll get on that. You'll have to help me, though. I have no idea how these things talk."

* * *

" _H-e-l-p_ _._ "

" _U-m-i-t-r-e-k-s_ _?_ "

" _D-e-a-d_. _K-i-p-h-o-r-i-s. I-k-h-a-r-o-s._"

" _W-i-l-l s-p-e-a-k t-o N-y-r-e-k-s. B-a-r-r-i-e-r i-np-l-a-c-e. C-a-n-n-o-t h-e-l-p. B-a-r-o-n?_"

" _U-n-k-n-o-w-n. M-a-n-y d-e-a-d. N-e-e-d h-e-l-p. B-e-w-a-r-e m-a-g-i-c._"

" _U-n-d-e-r-s-t-o-o-d._"

* * *

Ikharos struggled to keep his messages on target. It was like trying to herd ripples on the surface of a lake - impossible, unless you had an intimate knowledge on the flow of Arc. Here he was using his Void to send out the Fallen equivalent of morse code over the nullscape in between the fabrics of reality. In short: it was difficult.

"I guess we wait for your friend to answer," Ikharos sat against the cold stone wall and tried to control his breathing. He clutched the Servitor's Void core and exulted in the power pulsing out from it. Often a great source of emergency Void Light for many a Hunter, or their socially-uncomfortable Warlock tagalongs. "I don't like the sound of 'barrier' though."

"Neither do I. But we will deal with it." Kiphoris still hadn't returned the glassy dagger. Ikharos eyed the Captain with a faint sense of worry, but he didn't voice it. He was nervous that Kiphoris would figure out why he was so nervous... and he felt some gratitude towards the Wolf. Without a Ghost, his death would have meant full on RTL. Besides, dying a final death to a Dreg - even a Shade Dreg - was just embarrassing.

"Confident, aren't you?"

"Determined."

Ikharos laid his head back, ignoring the sting from a dozen half-healed cuts. "Captains don't usually pack cloaking generators. That a Scar thing?"

"No. Tradition of mine-lineage."

"Why's that?"

Kiphoris exhaled and finally looked at him. "When mine-ancestor, Eiriver, the Unseen, fought in the Edge Wars, he ended battles before they even began. He saved Rain's prophetess from the First Exiles, killed the Rogue Reavers, and fought alongside the warrior sisters Daneks and Dareks for the Will of Judgement and Proclamation of Kings. He earned both a Baronhood and his Kell's trust. To save lives of honourable warriors, he killed from the shadows. His heirs upheld that tradition throughout the ages, even to now. There is an honour in this dedication to one's people, even if the methods were... unseemly at the time. I admire his compassion, and his loyalty, towards his people."

"Sounds like a lot to live up to."

"It is. His stories gave rise to the ranks of Marauders."

"Your family were all Marauders?"

"No." Kiphoris sent Ikharos with an indecipherable look. "We were greater. Mine-sister took it as a challenge, and she tried to give life to his legend through cunning and trickery."

"Who was your sister?"

"Drevis, the Veiled."

"You mean...?" Ikharos eyes widened.

" _Eia._ "

"So you are a noble." The Warlock gave a brief, mirthless laugh. "Your family was the Silent Fang."

Kiphoris nodded, his eyes glowing sharply. "They were."

"Then... were you at Amethyst too? Did you help her slaughter innocent men, women, and children?"

"No," the Captain barked with a fury Ikharos didn't expect. "Your Earthen-people think that mine-kind are all monsters like Devils or plotters like Kings, but I am of the Wolves. I know, and agree, that Skolas was not a fitful Kell, and that atrocities were committed in his name, but we are not blameless. The Reef attacked first. They killed Virixas, who was stern but fair, who would have spared them. They killed many, including mine-father. Drevis wanted vengeance. Many others did too." Kiphoris leaned back. His voice grew quieter. "She lost sight of who deserved it, and who was blameless."

A long moment stretched out between them. Finally, Ikharos spoke up. "If the Awoken hadn't intervened, your House would have killed my people."

"You hoarded the Great Machine."

"Take it back," Ikharos retorted. "Please. Take it back, along with all the problems it drags behind it. We were all better off being dumb animals anyways..."

Another silence. At this point Ikharos was hoping Nyreks would respond, just to break through the awkwardness.

"Why do you hate us?" He finally asked.

Kiphoris didn't reply immediately. "We track our god for millennia, hunted by Hive and harried by Cabal, and arrive to find it in the possession of another people. A people who couldn't even defend it, who let it die."

"You think you'd do any better? Against the Darkness itself?"

"We would die trying. It is our duty-"

"Stuff your duty and think about the people," Ikharos shot back hotly. "We're killing each other over a silent ball in the sky, and it's done neither of us any favours. Look at us. Look at-"

The Void core pulsed in his hand.

* * *

" _N-y-r-e-k-s_ _h-e-r-e_. _F-a-r-e w-e-l-l?_"

" _W-e-l-l. B-a-r-r-i-e-r?_"

" _A-r-o-u-n-d k-e-e-p. W-i-s-h-e-d_ _._ "

* * *

"Psekisk. The Ahamkara's responsible."

Kiphoris clicked his mandibles irritably. "They have a Wish-Beast?"

Ikharos nodded. "One of the Exos mentioned it earlier. I was hoping he was just exaggerating."

The Captain growled. "You spoke with one?"

"He and a Shade came to gloat about... capturing me? Or something like that." He shrugged. "They're dead now."

"Are they here because of you?" The Captain stood up and rolled his shoulders.

Ikharos scoffed. "Of course not. If all they wanted was me, then I'd be dead and they'd have left. The Dreg confirms otherwise."

Kiphoris snarled. "If you are lying-"

"Save it for the dragon," Ikharos scowled.

* * *

" _W-i-l-l h-u-n-t w-i-s-h_."

" _H-o-p-e w-e-l-l. W-i-l-l r-a-l-l-y w-a-r-r-i-o-r-s._"

* * *

"Ask after the Kell."

Ikharos didn't argue.

* * *

" _K-e-l-l?_"

" _A-l-i-v-e_ _._ "

* * *

"I am satisfied." Kiphoris stepped away. "Now we hunt?"

"Now we hunt," Ikharos agreed.

**000**

The monster was relentless. Despite its hulking size, it managed to crawl through the halls of the keep with startling speed. She heard its heavy breath behind them, along with the leaden crash of its hooves on the stone floor, and even without looking she knew it was closing in. It could smell their fear, and more importantly hear their thoughts, at least until she remembered to attain access to the 'nullscape'.

It was like standing in the middle of... nothing. An infinitely vast nothingness, a realm where existence was absent. Her thoughts were better secured in there than under the protection of simple mental blocks. Even the greatest of mental defenses faltered against Ahamkara, or so she'd been told. And this was an Ahamkara. Formora had no doubt about that. It exuded the same presence as Qortho, of being something unnatural and ill-suited to reality, but unlike the Gatekeeper this one was hungry.

Formora had no intention of letting it feed.

" _Turn left!_ "

To say Xiān was helpful was a gross understatement. The Ghost knew the keep's layout on an intimate level that honestly surprised the elf. That, along with her ability to transport objects without any strain, explained just why Ikharos worked so closely with the spirit.

The next corner revealed a long hallway, each side lined with doors.

" _Into the kitchens!_ "

Formora slipped into the room. She didn't know if the Psion was still with her or not: even when running, he was silent.

" _Door, far side!_ "

She didn't hesitate and slammed against the wooden door, forcing it open. Another hallway stretched out on either side of her.

" _Dammit, there's others closing in. Don't go-_ "

The monster roared. Formora went left. She darted around the corner at the end, and suddenly found herself grasped by her shoulders and plucked from the ground. Four fearsome blue orbs met her own fearful stare.

"There you are!" She gave a start when she heard Ikharos' voice, and found him standing beside the hulking Eliksni. The Scar, Kiphoris she quickly realized, made a strange clicking sound and put her down. "Where the hell have you-"

The Psion, behind her, finally caught up and slid to a stop. Not a moment later guns were raised and primed. The air chilled with the sudden hostility.

"Your prisoners got out?" Ikharos asked quietly. He sounded vaguely irritated.

" _Eia,_ so it appears," Kiphoris muttered.

Formora looked between the two. Last she'd seen them together, they'd been actively trying to rip each other to shreds. To hear them talk in an almost civil manner to one another was… unexpected.

The Psion didn't say a word, but his single eye darted between the two and his finger tightened around the rifle's trigger.

"There's a Wish-Dragon," she blurted. All three of them looked at her.

Ikharos gave her a strained half-smile. "We know. We're trying to find it."

"No, you don't understand!" Formora shook her head. Her heart hammered in her chest, and there was a heavy pounding in her ears. "It was right behind us!"

"That's not good..." Ikharos didn't move, though. He kept his rifle - which she recognized was Kida's weapon - trained on the Psion.

" _Tell him to stop acting like a moron,_ " Xiān told her. Formora relayed the message, and the Risen chuckled.

"She's with you?"

"Yes."

"Thank goodness. Hey, you," he barked at the Psion. "Put down the gun."

"No." The one-eyed soldier replied.

"There's two of us."

"Then one of you will die."

"So we wait for the Ahamkara to catch up?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Your choice."

The Psion looked pointedly at Kiphoris. "I won't give in to barbarians."

"You want to live?"

"You want to die?"

"I asked first."

The Psion didn't reply. Formora pressed herself against the wall, sure that one side or both would open fire at any moment.

Ikharos finally lowered his rifle and stepped aside. "Get out of here. Go on."

Kiphoris growled deeply and did the same, but his claws clung tightly to his weapons. The Psion gave them each a careful, searching glance, then sped between them. They watched him run away until he disappeared through a doorway.

"Was that wise?" Kiphoris asked, his tone dangerously sharp.

Ikharos held out an empty hand, and Xiān flew to it. "On the off chance that he did kill one of us, it'd make fighting the Ahamkara all that much harder. Are you alright?"

Formora realized he was asking her. "I... don't know. I'm not injured."

"Shaken?"

She could only nod in assent. "It's _wrong_."

"That's why we kill them at every given opportunity. They have no place in our universe." He looked at Kiphoris. "You know how to fight one?"

" _Nama,_ but my desires are concealed."

"Why would... Oh. Riven."

Kiphoris nodded. "The Queen's pet."

Formora wondered what they were talking about, but other matters quickly stole her focus. "What do we do?"

Ikharos took off the strange tube-like object strapped to his back. "We kill it, however we can. You have your nullscape up?"

"I do."

"Good. You'll need to cover us. And warn us if any Shades show up."

"You've seen them?" Then she comprehended the real threat. "There's more?!"

"Yeah, but they won't bother anyone ever again. Yours?"

Formora closed her eyes. "Two. I killed the first," she explained. She was, in a way, proud of it, but neither Ikharos or Kiphoris were impressed by the claim. Then again, she wouldn't have been shocked to discover they'd already killed a dozen of the creatures. They both had that same unnervingly casual approach to warfare. They understood violence, and they knew they were good at it in a way few others could match. She continued. "The second was... displaced. By the Psion."

The Risen cursed. "Dammit. So there's still at least one at large."

"Have you been to the hall?" Kiphoris asked her. "Seen Tarrhis?"

She shook her head. "No, but I heard fighting in the area."

The Eliksni narrowed his inner eyes. "They may yet live..."

"We'll find out soon enough." Ikharos passed over the tube object to Kiphoris and put Kida's rifle over his back. He drew Orúm and slid his hand against it, leaving a faint purple trail along its deadly edge.

Formora took control of her breathing. She couldn't hear the Ahamkara, and though she expected it lurked nearby, she felt reassured. She and Ikharos had killed Qortho, and now they had Kiphoris.

"Come on." Ikharos led them on, holding Orúm in a firm grip and assuming a practiced stance. "Formora, what's it look like?"

"Different to Qortho," she told him. "Not quite as large. It walks like... like us. It has antlers, long claws, and a thick pelt. It has a skull for a head."

"Of course it does..." The Risen grumbled. "Any idea where it is?"

"It was right behind me. Or, it was, until we ran through the kitchens."

"Maybe he stopped for a snack," Xiān supplied. Kiphoris gave an amused grunt, which he quickly choked back.

"Not now," Ikharos whispered, but Formora could hear the warmth in his voice. "Do you know where it is?"

Xiān moved her fins in an imitation of a shrug. "You know as well as I do that they can't be tracked like-"

"I am right _(here)_ _._ "

Formora drew her sword and looked up. A colossal shape, totally unlike the creature that had pursued her earlier, dropped down on Ikharos. The Risen only just managed to teleport out of the way of the huge white-shelled spider, as large as a bear, and Xiān safely disappeared with a flash of light. The Ahamkara turned all seventeen purple eyes to Formora, and its grotesque maw was stretched out into a fang-filled grin. "I found _(you)._ "

It leapt onto the wall to avoid Ikharos' sudden stab, and glanced at him. "Your thoughts are _(succulent)_ , o Child of _(Light)_ _._ You are as a fresh catch from the lakes of _(possibility)._ "

Kiphoris snarled and lobbed a spherical object at the spider. It spat a glob of hissing green liquid at it, which ate through the metal. What disintegrating shards remained clattered to the floor. "Your ideas are a warm basking place, o time-lost Wolf. I will lay upon your husk and drink in your people's _(passions)_."

" _Stydja unin ília,_ " Formora chanted. The spider gave a shriek as the magic gathered around its limbs. Ikharos rushed to take advantage, but the Ahamkara grew new limbs and caught the blow with a heavy pincer.

Formora strained to keep it in place, but it was for naught. The strength of the Ahamkara was phenomenal, many times more than even a creature of its size should have possessed. She was forced to drop her spell, and with a roar that must have echoed throughout the castle, the Ahamkara launched itself at the Risen and caught him in another arm, smashing him against and through the wall behind him. They tumbled past, right into into the keep's deserted courtyard.

She and Kiphoris followed, but where Formora was hesitant, the Eliksni was determined. He launched himself at the back of the spider and snagged a limb. Exerting all his power, he managed to hold it in place - until the spider's leg popped off with a squelch.

The Ahamkara screamed and twirled around, tossing Ikharos into the Eliksni. "I will have your _(minds)!_ "

Before her eyes, the Ahamkara began to assume a new form. Like before, it hefted its weight onto two powerful legs, but unlike earlier this form was familiar. It was an Eliksni, though larger than even Tarrhis, and it bore a heavy helmet with glowing orange tubes coming from its mask. Two horns jutted from the heavy brown fur mantle it bore over its shoulders, one of which had its tip broken off. Its armour was heavier than any worn by Scars and of a deep navy blue, decorated with white runes she didn't recognize.

" _RAHAHA!_ " It bellowed with deep laughter, flexing its fearsome claws. "Face me, o _(hunters)_ mine!"

Kiphoris and Ikharos both froze in place, staring at the huge Eliksni with shock and... and yes, fear.

" _Jierda!_ " Formora yelled. The force of the spell, strengthened through years of practice, only forced the Ahamkara to stumble a few huge paces back. It looked over to her with delight in its four bright eyes.

"Aha, you do not know me, o Forsworn mine," it cackled in a voice that belonged to dragons. "I am Kell of Kells, the Rabid, Eater of Wishes and last king of the Wolves! I am Skolas! And I will-"

Thunder echoed around the castle as a huge glowing pulse of green-red energy smacked into the Ahamkara and tossed it across the courtyard. Formora glanced over to her companions and found Kiphoris having hefted his tube weapon, the barrel smoking and glowing red-hot. He looked just as surprised as she was, and regarded the weapon with giddy approval.

Ikharos stood and once more assumed battle stance. Beside him, Kiphoris tossed aside the spent weapon and drew knives coated in lightning. Their weapons looked pitiful when one accounted for the sheer size of their opponent, but they weren't deterred.

" _Ne go yus!_ " Kiphoris roared furiously, his eyes shining like angry stars. " _Ne kalakhselen! Ne frer!_ "

The Ahamkara climbed to his feet. Its armour was matted with a layer of ash, and molten steel dripped down its massive chest, but the gigantic Eliksni didn't appear to care. It laughed, a sound like an earthquake, and hunched over on all six limbs. It surged towards them with startling speed, and Formora dove to the ground as the monster bolted past.

Kiphoris jumped away and his armour crackled with a strange power. He disappeared into thin air without a trace. Ikharos, for his part, didn't even try to avoid the Ahamkara. He ran _at_ it. The Void visibly gathered around him, surrounding him in an aura of violet energy, and likely saved him from being crushed as he collided with the Ahamkara. He shoved his longsword through the Wish-dragon's shoulder, even as the huge Eliksni grasped him in a bear-hug and raked his back with terrible claws.

Formora ran and sliced at the back of the Ahamkara's knees - the only thing she could feasibly reach. The Eliksni grunted and fell down, releasing its captive Risen. Ikharos tugged out his blade, even as blood ran in streams down from his grievous wounds, and slashed at the creature's face, eliciting a second snarl.

When it struck out, she dodged the claw strike, but she forgot to anticipate for the secondary limb. The huge hand grasped her and, with as much strength as it could summon, brought her down onto the ground. Formora gasped as something inside cracked, and her breath left her. The follow-up attack to finish her off came in the form of a heavy fist falling down towards her, but a purple blast tossed the limb aside. Ikharos swept in with wide, powerful slashes that broke through the monster's armour but failed to finish it, and he too was eventually knocked aside with a swing of the creature's arms.

The Eliksni buckled as an unseen force fell upon its back, and it struggled wildly until, inexplicably, a knife carved a bloody line across its throat. The Ahamkara reached up and grasped something, which instantly materialized into Kiphoris, and it then tossed him aside. The Captain landed on his feet and rushed forward, but the Ahamkara, using its strange unexplainable magic, summoned an elegant sword out of thin air to deflect his attack. Kiphoris snarled, but try as he might, he couldn't break through with only knives.

Formora winced and rose to her feet. The monster before her tried to do the same, but with its hamstrings cut, it found itself unable to do so. It glared at her, and her ears were filled with the sound of hissing as one of the orange pipes from its helmet - which had been cut free during Kiphoris' assault - flailed out and leaked a heavy white mist.

" _Boetk istalrí,_ " she muttered, and watched as the Ahamkara was engulfed in flames. At first it had little effect, unable to get through the armour of the creature, but then the gas from the pipe caught alight. The orange tube gleamed with the brightness of the sun, and the glaring light trailed directly to the Eliksni's mask. It's eyes widened with a sudden primal fear. Fire flickered out from the sides of its helmet as it screamed, and its body convulsed violently, smashing stone tiles and tossing sparks everywhere.

Finally, it stared at her as its eye sockets blazed with an unyielding inferno, and it collapsed bodily onto the middle of the courtyard. The Ahamkara didn't move after that, turned into nothing more than a charred husk.

Ikharos limped over to stand beside her. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "That'll do it."

Kiphoris joined them, his haggard breathing muffled by his helmet. He didn't say a word, and all his eyes were transfixed on the dead beast.

**000**

Cadon ran, hid, and ran some more. Every corner could have hidden a new enemy. Every door could toss him into yet another hellhole.

There were bodies everywhere he went, Eliksni or human. It no longer surprised him. Not after what he'd seen.

He finally found a way out: a window on the second floor, overlooking an empty plaza around the castle walls. The wooden shutters had been smashed open. Probably where those _things_ came through. He couldn't escape, though. An energy barrier of dancing colours had been built up, and it looked to cover the entire castle. He could keenly feel the potent power of it on the edge of his mind, taste the sweet paracausality of it, and he rapidly retreated back into the recesses of the room. He'd rather take on a Darkblade than touch anything made by an Ahamkara. Their hunger was legendary. One had reached his people in the time before the Uluru found them, and it had been immortalized in myth.

He barred the door behind him and huddled in the corner, eye wide open and rifle primed to fire. He didn't have to wait long. The barrier inexplicably disappeared. Cadon didn't wait around; he bolted.

He was already deeper into the maze of the city when he heard Tlac's panicked mind join with his. " _Cadon!_ "

" _DRAGON!_ " He yelled back. " _THERE'S A WISH-DRAGON!_ "

" _Where?!_ "

" _In the keep!_ "

" _Damn. Where are you?_ "

Cadon sent him his location.

" _Make your way to sector 18. We have to be quick, or the Eliksni will shoot us down._ "

" _On my way._ " He looked around. No Eliksni in sight, but that didn't assure him. There could be cloaked shockshooters anywhere. " _The human was there_ _._ "

" _The human?_ " He could feel Tlac's confusion, then the clarity of understanding. " _Oh. Val Brutis' killer._ "

Cadon felt a sharp jolt of surprise. " _She's dead?_ "

"H _er and others. The human ripped through them like they weren't even there._ " Tlac went quiet. " _We've just told the Primus about the dragon. Everyone's pulling back to the carrier._ "

" _Are the Flayers organizing a plan of action?_ "

Tlac's presence felt bitter. " _No. He's forbidden us. Something's wrong... It doesn't matter. We're almost at the extraction point. Seventeen second window. Move._ "

Cadon legged it. It was easier to run without the weight of armour, but the extra speed provided by jump-jets would have been more than welcome.

He made it to the city wall and climbed the stairs up to the ramparts. The moment he reached the top, a gold and white Harvester micro-warped to the space just beyond the stone, and he leapt as the hatches opened. Heavy hands grasped his own, and he was quickly tugged aboard. The hatches behind him closed, and the Harvester tore away from the city.

**000**

Tarrhis grimaced as his shattered arm whined like a needy hatchling and tossed a second shock grenade over the fallen stone column he used as cover. Of course, none of his opponents were caught in it, having expertly dodged or shielded themselves against the explosion of Arc. They were skilled and, as much as he despised admitting it, better trained than his own soldiers. A half dozen dead Scars in the hall could attest to that.

"Here!" Sundrass tossed him another fusion disc. He nodded his thanks and reloaded his shock rifle, and opened fire on yet another of the enemy's drones. The robot shrieked and fell dead, finger still clutching the trigger. The wild spray of bullets went wide and caught a Dreg by the corner of the room.

His pillar was coming apart. It would only take mere minutes before the bullets found their way into his flesh. Sundrass' pile of rubble looked to last far longer, and there was yet room even with four Scars huddled behind it. The Captain noticed looking, and then saw his growing problem. She beckoned him on.

Bullets tore past his vision. He shook his head.

"You must!" She snarled, barely audible over the sound of gunfire.

Tarrhis considered his options. The assassins were precise. There was no question of whether they would be able to shoot him or not. No, the question was if he would survive. His personal Arc shield was of a higher quality than most, courtesy of being a Baron, but it could not last a full barrage. His only hope lay in getting across, and to survive he had to be fast. Very fast. Or... maybe he could control how quickly they shot him.

He held out the tiny orb of his last grenade and took a deep, slow breath, calming himself and thinking of better days, when their number had been spread across many Ketches. When the old Kell and his own father had been fast friends and steadfast allies, before the grand betrayal. His father had told him about breath. How Eliksni, or even Cabal, would hold theirs when they were frightened, or take a sudden inhalation before they launched an attack. In yourself, it was a method of controlling fear. He took another slow breath and eased his hammering hearts.

He rolled the grenade out and broke out into a run. Bullets immediately assailed his shield, rapidly depleting it, but then the web grenade activated and caught the rest, catching them out of the air and freezing their momentum. He dropped into a sprawl behind the pile of rubble and swatted away the hands of his concerned soldiers. "I'm alive, I'm alive, stop worrying."

"Yes, mine-Baron." The Vandals - and brave Dreg who Tarrhis had decided had earned the right to regrow his limbs, if they survived - retreated from him.

They kept firing on the enemy at every chance given to them, but their assailants were determined and well-coordinated.

One of the metal creatures - who looked to have been made in the imagery of humans - dove over the rubble and rushed Tarrhis' position. One of his Vandals rose to meet the assassin, but was effortlessly put down with a lethal clout to the side of his head, knocking the glow from his eyes. Tarrhis stood and tackled the creature, yet it expertly slipped out of his grip and managed to get behind him, shattering his personal shield with a roar from its shotgun. He rolled over and got a crippling kick to the stomach for his efforts. The cold muzzle settled beneath his chin, and his blue eyes met pink optics.

Its head came apart in an explosion of Arc. The robot slumped over on top of him. Tarrhis grunted and threw the corpse aside, then looked for his saviour. He found brave Kiphoris by the side door, emptying his shock pistols into the mass of metal. The humans, Ikharos and Formora, appeared beside him, firing upon the assassins with deadly accuracy. Their human guns, at least Ikharos' weapon, roared furiously. Formora's must have been stolen from a robot, as it was almost too quiet to be heard, though no less effective because of it.

The flanking maneuver caught the assassins by surprise, and more than half their number died before they swiveled around to address, but then the heavy door to the hall was blown open. Scars poured in, and the remaining robots were caught in a deadly crossfire. Not one survived.

Tarrhis stood on shaky legs and looked around to what remained of those who'd made a last stand with him. Four tired, but steadfast, Scar faces met his own, and he knew he'd never been more proud of his people than at that moment.

" _Tarrhis-Mrelliks!_ " Nyreks rushed in and looked for the Baron, finding him amidst the pile of rubble and bodies towards the back of the hall. "Mine-Baron, are you well?!"

"I am alive, Nyreks, and that is all that matters." The Baron swayed on his feet. "Where have you been?"

"Trapped outside, mine-Baron," the distinguished Vandal lowered his head shamefully. "These creatures had a Wish-Beast with them, and used its vile magic to entrap this castle and all inside."

"A Wish-Beast? Here?" Sundrass barked with disbelief. "And how, I wonder, was its magic defeated?" Her voice was just as empty as his, but she was as spirited as ever. The best Scar to have at your side.

"I believe _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ and _Ikha Riis_ hunted it down." The Vandal glanced to the two he mentioned. "Magic is nothing to skilled swords, as we have seen time and again."

" _Eia,_ we hunted it." Kiphoris' eyes were dimmed with pain and exhaustion, and his armour bore heavy damage. As did that of Ikharos, but the Light-Warrior's armour had been broken since the battle with the Cabal so Tarrhis didn't know how wounded the human was, though he slouched tiredly all the same. "However, Formora slew the beast with magic."

The second human looked at them with uncomprehending eyes, but she recognized when they spoke her name.

Tarrhis looked at her thoughtfully. "She did? Then I must congratulate her. Tell her that."

Kiphoris relayed the message in the human language. Formora dipped her head respectfully.

"Where is the beast now?" Tarrhis asked.

It was Ikharos who answered him. "In the courtyard. Don't let anyone in, or it might kill them and come back. It took the form of an Eliksni, but don't be fooled."

Tarrhis narrowed his eyes. "That is... surprising. But not unheard of. Then... how could these creatures-" he gestured to the dead robots. "-control a Wish-beast? Or were they its thralls...?" He shook his head and stood as tall as he could. "Gah, these are questions for clearer minds. Mine-Scars, there are wounded who must be treated! Fetch the Splicers!" He looked around at those who'd saved him. "Where is Raksis? Where is my son?"

"We thought... he might be in here, mine-Baron," Nyreks answered.

Tarrhis' hearts jolted with fear. "Find him!"

Nyreks and his followers rushed to obey. Tarrhis exhaled, whether in relief or giving in to despair he did not know. It had been a long night, fraught with violence and horror. He found himself fearing the death toll. He looked down at the motionless robot at his feet and glared. He didn't know what it was, or why it had even attacked his people, but he swore it wouldn't go unanswered. "I will kill your kind for this," Tarrhis promised darkly. "I will have your steel and forge it into a monument dedicated to your extinction."

**000**

"What now?" Formora asked.

Ikharos felt a grin tugging at his lips, but he was too tired to humour it. "Now? Nothing. They have it from here."

"What if there are other Shades?" She pressed. "There's still that one the Psion failed to kill."

"Then it'll die. Easy to kill individual Fallen when you take them by surprise. Fighting an entire crew? That's something else. If the Shade's dumb enough to stick around, they'll kill it."

Kiphoris made a growling sound. "I must tell them of their weaknesses." He left them and approached Nyreks, dragging his feet. He lugged the Ahamkara's sword behind him, Ikharos noted with a frown. He'd have to talk to the Wolf about that.

" _Later,_ " Xiān said. " _Find somewhere out of the way and grab some shut eye. I'll wake you up._ "

" _Right. But don't leave me on my own._ "

" _You got it._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue!


	30. Foundations

Sapphire wire, plasteel plating, and engram-crystal databanks. Repairing Frames was simply an art Ikharos had no talent at, yet he gave it a try regardless. On the bright side, he had Xiān with him. The Ghost knew exactly what to do, but this time he wanted to try his hand at it. The surprise attack during the previous night had hammered home a fear that plagued every Guardian - going on without a Ghost.

He couldn't imagine summoning the conviction to continue without his best friend, but Ikharos knew that the universe was far from fair, and being the sole Guardian of an entire world was a tall order. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but they were always like that. Even so, being alone didn't bode well for their future. There was a chance that one of them could die. They'd talked about it earlier, and neither had emerged happy about the result - maybe that meant they'd reached the right decision. It didn't make it easier, though.

If she died, he needed to be more careful with his one remaining life and stay out of the spotlight, but if _he_ died instead, then she needed to pick another Guardian. Considering there was an entire world to choose from, finding someone with enough natural Light was possible, though Ikharos didn't kid himself. It would be hard enough for one of them to lose the other, but to replace them? He hated the idea, and yet he was telling Xiān to do exactly that.

* * *

_"I'll do whatever I need to," she had replied in a shaky voice. "Just... please don't die. I don't want to have to make that choice."_

* * *

Formora was more than right when she said they needed allies. The attack made him realize that. That many Shades and Exos? They wouldn't have even needed that amount to kill him. Half that would have been enough. The only reason he was still alive was that the Exos obviously hadn't accounted for the bloodthirsty and ambitious natures of the Shades. Or the ferocity, stubbornness, and resourcefulness of Eliksni. Kiphoris in particular. The Wolf was a gifted warrior and leader. If he'd been in Sol, he could have easily made Baron. Maybe even Kell, if Eramis and Misraaks hadn't been at play.

Ikharos shivered and shifted to get closer to the fire. A brisk cold had swept through the empty city, so he'd ripped timber from a few of the nearby houses and sliced it into kindling to keep warm while he worked. He could have found warmer places to repair Kida than the open plaza, but the keep had become a flurry of Scar activity as they recovered from the attack - they looked like they were preparing to leave soon. There were a lot of empty buildings around Ceunon open for use, yet they unsettled him. The displaced Shade Formora had spoken of still hadn't been found, and he didn't want to get cornered by it if it still lurked nearby. Besides, the plaza was in easy view of the Scars, who could respond to any further attacks. Funny how a single night could change how he saw Fallen.

"How goes it?"

Ikharos smiled weakly and gestured for Formora to join him. "Slowly. I'm not a great technician. We got lucky, though. His heuristic databanks are still intact."

"Which means?" She raised an eyebrow and sat down, legs crossed.

"Which means that if we can get him back up, he'll still have memories, skills, the works."

"Is that wise? He disobeyed you. What if he remembers he can do that?"

Xiān popped into existence. "We're going to modify or disable his radio transceiver so he can't communicate with Scipio. That way Ikharos will be the highest available form of authority, and the Warmind won't get in our way."

Formora nodded slowly, then pointed to the other dead robot lying beside him. "And what of the Exo?"

Ikharos waved his hand dismissively. "Using it for parts."

"Is _that_ wise? What if it's cursed?"

"They're not like Shades. I believe their minds have been taken over by a viral concept, but I don't intend on transplanting the brain over. What Kida needs are ocular and auditory systems. Eyes and ears." Ikharos laid a hand against the dead transhuman. "And it doesn't feel Dark."

There was a pause. Finally, she asked, "Where's your armour?"

His smile quickly died away. Ikharos glanced down at his casual wear, then jutted a thumb back towards the keep. "Xiān gave it to a Splicer for repairs while I was asleep. That, and she put in an order for more Glimmer."

"Isn't that a good thing? You don't sound pleased."

"I would have liked to have been awake at the time," Ikharos grumbled. "Now I've got nothing. I'm completely exposed."

"Not for long," Xiān tried her best to roll her single eye. All she managed to achieve was to rotate her entire body. The Ghost twirled about to address the elf. "What about your end?"

Formora sighed and looked over her shoulder. "The civilians are fleeing as fast as they can. They're scared. And rightly so. This... this is madness. All of this. How can you live like this?"

"Like what?" Ikharos asked.

"Always fighting. Always under constant threat."

"Because there's no other way to live. Not for my kind. Something will always come looking to kill us." He closed his eyes. "There's no escape from this."

He heard the clack of claws on stone as an Eliksni approached, but Ikharos refused to give in to his instincts. He knew who it was. He used his knife to pry away a segment of plasteel and get at the parts at the rear of the Exo's skull. More wire would be ideal.

" _Velask_ _._ Greetings, Formora."

"Kiphoris," the elf replied in a tense voice. "What brings you here?"

" _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_ will want to speak soon." The Captain spoke in a way that snagged Ikharos' attention. It was casual, and familiar, like the way the Variks and the other Reef scribes spoke. Those who'd been exposed to humans.

"What happened to his son?" Ikharos asked, not taking his eyes off his work. Kida's neck was starting to take shape again. The biggest obstacle lay in bringing together what fragments of his head remained and reworking it to use the sensory systems of an Exo. Maybe he could snag a Scar Shank and-

" _Behave,_ " Xiān warned him.

To his surprise, Kiphoris chuckled. "He was, ah, found alive in the keep with friends. In the cool-cavern."

"The cellar," Ikharos caught on quickly. "Did he...?"

"They didn't know about the attack. They were drinking much-wine to hear."

That put a grin on his face. "Little bastard."

"Tarrhis is not impressed, but I am. So many bottles."

A silence stretched out. Before the awkwardness started to grow, Ikharos broached a topic that had been bothering him the entire morning. "Do you still have the sword?"

"I... yes." Kiphoris drew the blade. It was different design-wise to most Eliksni shock swords, having a more ornamental appearance than was the norm. The guard was a silver foil that protected the fingers, and instead of shock cores possessed prized azure gems fizzling with Arc energy. A long, thin, and deadly-sharp blade reached out from the hilt, smooth on side and serrated on the other. The Wolf sigil was branded near the bottom of the blade, just over the foil, on both sides. "It is a sword of Kells. Of Wolves. It is Ka'Den."

"It's also not the real one. The Ahamkara made it."

"The real sword was destroyed with _Virixas-kel_ by _Mara-kel,_ " Kiphoris retorted. "This will replace the loss of Wolves legacy."

Ikharos clicked his tongue. "Just let me make sure the Ahamkara isn't hiding inside it." He held out his hand.

Kiphoris gave him a suspicious look, then handed the weapon over. Ikharos raised the nullscape and ran his hand down the weapon. So far so good. He grasped the hilt and activated the crystals with the pull of a hidden trigger. Potent Arc lightning ran up and down the gleaming blade. Nothing happened else. No paracausal reaction, no wish, no bite. It felt normal. Like an object of the corporeal plane was supposed to. He was still inclined to distrust it, but odds were the Ahamkara just summoned it on a whim rather than to lay down an elaborate plan in the event of its death.

"Here," he gave it back to the Captain. "Yours now, Wolf."

"No," Kiphoris shook his head. "I will hold it for now, but I am Scar. I will gift this to Wolf-banner."

Ikharos pursed his lips. "There aren't any Wolves. Not anymore."

Kiphoris went still. "What do you mean?"

The Warlock paused. "I mean the Wolves are gone. A few were absorbed into other Houses like you, the rest were wiped out. Between the Martian Cabal and the Scorn on the Shore, they didn't stand a chance."

"Scorn?" Kiphoris pressed, his voice sharp.

"Your old Archon's new House, except they aren't really... Eliksni anymore. Fikrul mutated them."

"Fikrul, the Heretic..." The Captain growled. "Did you kill him too?"

"He comes back. We don't know how to kill him for good."

Kiphoris began muttering dark things in Eliksni, things even Ikharos wouldn't dare translate. The Warlock went back to work, delicately aligning a trio of wires against the dead France's neck strut.

After a lengthy pause, Kiphoris grunted. "I came to discuss with you our past-foes."

"Go on."

"Wish-beast became _Skolas-kel_. I want to know if from you, or I."

"You," Ikharos answered quickly. "If it had been me, he would've become something a whole lot worse."

"What could be worse than Skolas?" Kiphoris challenged. There was a fire in his voice.

Ikharos didn't even need to think about it. "Oryx."

The Captain flinched. "... You jest."

"I'm not in the mood to joke."

"Oryx cannot be felled."

"Really? Because he's very much dead. I made sure of it."

Kiphoris rose up to tower over the Guardian. Ikharos resisted the urge to rise to the challenge. "You claim to have won where great _Chelchis-kel_ failed?"

" _Älf er du ilumëo,_ " Ikharos muttered. He glanced up at the Captain, who's eyes widened in surprise. "There's your truth."

Kiphoris growled. "The language of Shades."

"Language of Harmony, most like. Every oath spoken in it is binding and truthful. Just ask Formora - she's fluent in it."

The elf slowly nodded. "He isn't wrong."

Kiphoris just sort of stared at him. A few moments passed, and the Captain shook his head. "I did not come for magic or boasts. I came for your knowledge."

"Ask your questions."

"Name the assassins. You know them."

"They're Dark, as I've told you before. Like the Hive."

"They serve Hive?"

"No. Something else. Nezarec."

"What is Nezarec?"

Ikharos paused and gathered his thoughts. "Not entirely sure. His past isn't as well recorded as the Hive Triumvirate's was. He's not Hive, but he's just as Dark as they are. And he's become a god. He's using the people here to feed his power. We found him within his own Ascendent plan. You know, like Crota's? His Grey City is just like the Hellmouth."

When he finished, the Kiphoris blinked and dipped his head. "Psekisk. This is a mess."

"Yeah," Ikharos agreed. "It is."

"And you seek to oppose this Dark?"

"Of course." He folded protective plating over the wires in Kida's neck. The Exo's parts were of exquisite quality.

Kiphoris squatted down. With his heavy cloak pulled around him and winged helm atop his head, he resembled the wraithlike owls of Vroenguard. The biggest bird on Kepler. "What do you plan now?"

Ikharos exchanged a glance with Formora. "Leaving. This place is getting too much attention. We need to move before the Shades or Cabal come back."

"We were tracking a Shade this way to begin with," Formora added. She walked over to take a closer look at the Exo. "And I don't know what the king plans, but he'll act soon. Of that I'm sure."

"Galbatorix?" Kiphoris asked, taking them by surprise.

"You... know about him?" Ikharos asked curiously.

"You are not the only humans I've spoken with. I may be a Scar, but I was once a Wolf. I must know the worlds I walk." The Captain tilted his head curiously. "Why is this Shade important?"

"Because we have to kill them all to weaken Nezarec. And no one leaves until Nezarec dies." Ikharos exhaled. "The Warmind won't let us."

"So it was a machine? I thought as much." Kiphoris nodded. "How did it come to be here? How did the humans find their way to this world?"

"Golden Age expedition," Ikharos told him. "It looks like things went awry. I'm not sure what happened, but they encountered-"

Formora gave a startled gasp and jumped to her feet, sword drawn. Ikharos tore out his cannon purely on instinct - he remembered, moments later, that it was out of ammo. "What is it?" He asked. His eyes scanned the horizon, searching for a Cabal ship.

"Exo!" She stared at the prone body. "It's still alive!"

As quick as he could, Ikharos drew his knife and plunged it into the robot's back. Nothing happened. He looked questioningly at Formora. "Now?"

She shook her head. "I can feel its consciousness. It's dormant, like it's hibernating. _It's not dead_."

Kiphoris stepped around them and clutched the Exo's head in his claws. He pried away the plating and reached in, grasping something and ripping it out. With a shower of sparks, he withdrew a rough metal sphere still loosely attached to a few remaining wires. The Exo's mechanical brain. It was grey and lifeless.

"Wait." Ikharos lightly grasped one of the wires and followed it down into the skull. He traced it further down, cutting away more plasteel so they could see where it led, and it stopped at the spinal column just below the head. "Something's here."

He cut around the spine and delicately pulled the top of it out of the corpse. Most of it was just sapphire wires and plasteel support, but a blinking red light at the top drew his attention. He fiddled with it, discovering that while the segment was securely attached to the spine, it wasn't soldered to the steel like the other segments. The wires from the brain fed directly into that exact segment too.

Ikharos looked at Kiphoris. "Hold it for a moment." Then he used the tip of his knife to slice away the locks on the strange part and tugged it out. It was a perfectly smooth disc, about two inches wide, and half an inch tall at the centre. The wires fed into dataports at the top. With a rough tug, Ikharos pulled them out, and held up the disc. "Is this it?"

Formora leaned in close. Her brow was furrowed with suspicion. "It is... But what is it?"

"Digital dogtags. A backup brain. Military-grade titanium alloy shell, by the looks of it. What the Exo doesn't survive, this will."

"But what purpose does it serve?"

"Surviving what would otherwise be certain death. If this can be retrieved, then maybe it can be planted into another body." Ikharos surged to his feet. "What's being done with the other bodies?"

Kiphoris tossed the dead brain aside. "Splicers will tear them apart and take what they wish. Tarrhis will use their steel to build a trophy. But I will stop them." The Captain turned about and ran towards the keep.

"Can they really come back?" Formora asked.

Ikharos hesitated. "The Exo I spoke to said he was immortal. Maybe this is what he meant."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Nothing important."

Formora exhaled slowly. "So what happens now?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. We continue as planned, I guess. We need to get out of this city before this Exo's friends come looking for him."

"Who's Oryx?" She asked suddenly.

Ikharos grimaced. "A living horror forced onto the universe. God-King of the Hive. He navigated the twisted depths of the Dark to find power. He was... the most horrible thing I've ever had the misfortune of meeting."

"And you killed him?"

"The Hive are on a grand crusade. They see the conflict between Light and Dark as a holy war, and Oryx was the lead crusader. Entire worlds fell to his blade. It took everything we had to finally put him down."

"If... if you killed Oryx, what threat does Nezarec pose to you?"

"I killed Oryx, but I had friends with me. The difference in the effectiveness of a single Guardian as opposed to that of a team is a phenomenally wide gap. A Guardian can challenge a small army. Two Guardians can fight off an infinite amount of foes forever, provided they have ample cover. A Guardian can't kill an Ascendant god, but a fireteam can. And I'm just one Guardian." Ikharos paused. "Ours is an uphill battle."

"You aren't the only one who fights," Formora challenged.

"No, I'm not, am I?" He gave her a weak smile. His eyes drifted back to the disc. "Now, what to do with you... Can you get into his mind?"

Formora closed her eyes. "I can try... No. It's as secured as yours is." She sheathed her weapon. "What do we do with it?"

"I don't know."

"I'll take it," Xiān said. She transmatted the disc into their digitized vault.

Formora frowned. "Is that safe?"

"Let's hope. I mean, itt's just data." The Ghost turned back to the Exo's corpse. "This is taking too long."

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Are you taking over?"

"Yeah. You're useless. You guys go talk or whatever. I'll have Kida up in an hour."

* * *

The city was empty. Aside from the Fallen swarming over the keep, all that remained were rats and crows. They freely scavenged from what food had been carelessly left behind. When Ikharos and Formora walked past, they scattered and hid.

"I hear you talked with Lord Tarrant," Ikharos began. "Is he..."

"Dead. He was crippled and confined to his room when I left to investigate the noise last night. The Shades must have found him."

"Crippled?"

"I broke his legs."

"That's… harsh."

Formora stubbornly crossed her arms. "I found him beating slaves."

"Ah. Fair enough." Ikharos shrugged. "I guess it was warranted. What happened to the slaves?"

"I freed them, and instructed them to deliver a message to a guildmaster I knew some time ago. The man is influential. The people would listen to him. I'd given him orders to tell the them to leave and find refuge in the empire."

"So it _was_ you. Good thinking. What did Tarrant tell you?"

Formora answered after a brief pause. "He told me the Shade had captured a prisoner."

"Does it concern us?"

"I don't know," she answered. She sounded conflicted. "The prisoner was an elf."

"... Oh."

"Tarrant confirmed that the Shade was Durza."

"Any idea where Durza's gone?"

"Gil'ead. It's a city south of here. And it has a heavy military presence. There's no place as well-protected in the empire as Gil'ead, aside from Urû'baen. The elf will be tortured until they give up all their secrets - or die. There's no escape from that city. It's too secure."

"Secure from bandit raids, maybe. I'll bet we could get in easily enough."

She shook her head. "If Durza discovers us..."

"We'll have to move quickly and quietly. If there's a chance it'll work, then it's worth it."

"And after that?"

"Unless we find another Shade after Durza, it's Galbatorix next. Given that he's likely a primary source of tribute, he's undoubtedly well-defended. There might be even more Shades with him, but we'll hunt them... down..." Ikharos frowned. A child stood at the end of the street, staring at them. The boy was dressed in rags. His hair was long and unkempt, and he limped on one leg. A knife was tucked into his belt.

"Hey," Ikharos greeted, and gave a hesitant smile to the boy. "And who might you be?" He asked as kindly as he could.

The boy looked at him suspiciously. "Alfr," the child told him in a hoarse voice.

Ikharos frowned and opened his mouth, but he couldn't find the words. He looked at Formora, utterly confused. She gave him a wry smile and nothing else.

"You make me leave the city, then liberate it," the boy, 'Alfr' supposedly, looked around. "I don't know whether to be impressed or annoyed. Or afraid."

"Nothing's ever simple with him," Formora added nonchalantly. Her voice had quickly adopted a warmer tone. "At least it's interesting."

"I don't doubt that." The boy stretched his arms. "So... Saviour of Ceunon, eh?"

"I don't care for titles." The Warlock decided to leave his questions for another day. He already had too much to think about.

Formora shifted. "Not even lord?"

Ikharos looked up sharply. "What?"

"Lord. That's your title, isn't it?" She pressed, crossing her arms. "You're of nobility."

"Risen nobility doesn't work the same way," Ikharos retorted. "And I left that behind me. It's just extra air. Where'd you hear that, anyhow?"

"Kiphoris."

"You spoke to him?"

"I did. Before he tried to kill you, he was rather amiable."

"He's Silent Fang," Ikharos warned. "Be careful around him."

A cough drew their attention back to the child. Or werecat. Alfr looked between them warily - Ikharos in particular. "I have my own questions."

"Tactful as always, Alfr," Formora muttered.

"What are you up to?" The boy posed the question to the elf. "Why have you returned?"

"Because I've made a mistake," Formora glanced away. "We all have."

"What mistake is that?"

"Letting Galbatorix live."

Alfr chuckled nervously, but upon seeing their serious expressions, his laughter died away. "Oh. You're actually set on killing him."

"I've worked a lifetime to do it. And now, I think, it may be possible. Even if it weren't, we need to try. Before he gathers more power." She and Ikharos locked eyes, and she sent him a questioning look. He shook his head ever so slightly. As ironic as it was, he trusted his own people less than he did the Scars with information pertaining to the Darkness. Warlords put Kells to shame.

"I suppose that's true." Alfr scratched the back of his head. "What will you do _now_?"

"Undermine the king however we can. What of you?"

"To be honest, I don't know."

"Leave," Ikharos told him. "The Cabal will return. Soon."

"The giants?"

"... Yeah, sure. The giants."

Alfr nodded. "I'll do that. Ceunon was getting boring anyway."

"Where will you go?" Formora kneeled down. She sounded faintly concerned.

"I don't know," Alfr replied honestly. "Maybe Surda. As far as I can get from the giants. They're like nothing I've ever seen... just like the new occupiers."

"The Scars aren't interested in Ceunon's people," Ikharos told him. "They won't bother you."

"I know. You did send me off in one of their insects." The boy shivered. "I didn't enjoy that. Werecats are not meant to fly."

"They just let you go?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Stay safe." Formora clasped Alfr's shoulder, and after a moment she stood. The boy dipped his head in return and scampered off. Ikharos watched him run away until he'd completely disappeared from view. He only just heard his companion say, "He helped me escape."

The Warlock turned to Formora. "Escape from the king's control?"

She nodded. "I'd be dead or a slave if it weren't for him. I would never have managed to change my true name, to convince the usurper I was dead, or leave Alagaësia."

"Why _did_ you return? Surely there's more to life than killing Galbatorix."

"Not for me. I lost everything else in the Wyrdfall. Vengeance is all I have." A long moment followed. "And you? Surely there's more to life than your duty?"

"I don't have a life," Ikharos reminded her. "Not like that. I'm meant to fight at every turn. That's why I'm walking and talking."

"That's odd." She placed a hand against his cheek. "You feel alive."

Before he could react, Xiān's consciousness pressed against his own. " _We've been summoned. Try to look your best - we're to meet a Baron._ "

* * *

Ikharos thought he knew Fallen. In most respects he did. He'd fought against a member of every one of the Great Houses that survived the Whirlwind. He'd killed both Dregs and Kells. He'd spoken with peaceful scribes and cunning mobsters. He thought he knew what to expect

He didn't know Tarrhis, though, and he realized this as he marched into the huge solar at the top of the castle. Once it must have housed the Tarrant family, but now it had fallen into Scar hands. It was a large chamber, easily spacious enough for the Baron and the Servitor providing him ether. The gaseous liquid filled the air with the scent of sweet sugar, but Ikharos' focus was on how vibrant the ether was. It had a purple glow to it, and it clearly suffused the Baron with immense strength.

" _Enhanced ether,_ " Xiān said. " _We've handed them the Cabal tech on a silver platter._ "

Tarrhis finished his ration and put aside his ether cup, allowing himself a heavy sigh of relief. "I am sated," he began. "I am strong. I will grow. This is the taste of victory."

Kiphoris was present, standing by a window. The Wolf barely glanced in Ikharos' direction, and when he did, he didn't look happy.

" _Velask, Tarrhis-Mrelliks,_ " Ikharos greeted. His voice sounded small in comparison.

The Baron rumbled back. " _Velask, Ikha Riis._ " Tarrhis, sat on a fallen pillar, picked up the body of a dead Cabal warbeast and began skinning it with a carving knife large enough to be a scimitar in Ikharos' hands. He didn't vocally demand humility, as merely being in his presence demanded the utmost respect. Fallen at that size deserved his full attention.

"You see this predator?" Tarrhis asked, his eyes roaming over the dead hound. "A feisty bitch. She almost took mine-son's leg from him during battle. She will make a fine cloak, will she not? To honour her ferocity, I will raise her pups to be Scars." The huge Fallen tore away the pelt of red scales with a loud rip. "It is good to reward your allies and enemies both, but only if they are worthy of it. I will not honour those who snuck into this place and slaughtered my guards. They fought bravely towards the end, but they did not begin with bravery. They used the twisted magics of Hive and Wish-beasts to attain their goal." He narrowed his inner eyes. "Respectable foes are so few. It is disappointing. But allies, allies I will honour. Your victory has gifted us an advantage, _Ikha Riis._ Mine-wars will be easier fought with stronger, better fed warriors."

"Wars? Plural?"

Kiphoris gave a grunt, still peering out the window. "We fight other Scars.

Tarrhis hummed thoughtfully. He swiveled his gaze to Formora. "Slayer of the Wish-beast. Is there any way that she may understand my words?"

Xiān appeared, much to Ikharos' dismay, and fearlessly flew out. "I will do it."

The guards had drawn weapons, but Tarrhis only peered at the little Ghost with his outer eyes closed, evidently intrigued. "Is this your Shank, _Ikha Riis_? Or your Servitor?"

"Servitor," he said quickly. He held his Light close and eyed the raised guns warily.

"And you will translate my words, tiny Servitor?"

Xiān ruffled her shell. "I will."

Tarrhis rumbled. "Good." He stood up and towered over her. "Lift your eyes, human. You are noble, and I am not your Kell."

Formora listened to the Ghost's translation and looked up. She didn't say a word. Her lips were pressed thin and her brow furrowed with uncertainty.

"You have slain the Wish-beast, who took the form of a warrior-Kell. I know you have, for its body still lies below and trusted Kiphoris has claimed it was your doing. In doing so, you saved my life and the lives of mine-Scars. This is no small feat. I am indebted to you, and the life debt of a Baron is worth much. Ask your boon, and if it is within my power, I will gift it."

Formora looked away, lost in thought. After a brief pause, she replied, "I don't want for much. I am alive and I have magic. I can live in comfort if I so wish. Any luxury I desire is within my reach, but I don't want hollow pleasures. I don't want baubles or prizes, as they would be useless to me. What I want is vengeance. Against the man who destroyed my life, and the god who pushed him to it. I want Galbatorix dead. I want Nezarec banished from my home."

"I have heard those names before. Kiphoris told me as much. Galbatorix is your human king, yes?" Tarrhis tilted his head. "Why would you wish the death of your Kell?"

"He is not my king. And he murdered his way onto the human throne after slaughtering the Riders."

"Beast Riders," Kiphoris muttered. The Captain turned around and raised his voice. "Yes, we know of them. This is a strange world."

Tarrhis gave a rumble. "You seek vengeance against this... Galbatorix? From what I have seen of his House, it would not pose great trouble."

Formora nodded slowly. "It's not so simple. The king is allied with one Shade - that we know of - and the Shades serve Nezarec. But yes, that is what I wish."

Tarrhis looked over at his Captain. "You spoke of this creature, but I have learned nothing of this Nezarec. Explain it to me."

" _Ikha Riis_ knows better than I," Kiphoris pointed to the Warlock.

The Baron huffed. "It appears we are not as well-informed as I previously thought." He looked at Ikharos and didn't speak for a few moments. Then, to Ikharos' surprise, Tarrhis fell on one knee. His guards gasped their protests, and Kiphoris was shocked into silence, but the Baron ignored them all. "You are Light-Warrior, Deathless One, Ferryman of the Great Machine's graces, Bearer of the Burning Touch, you are a mighty foe to the Cabal. You are great. You are sacred to me. More sacred than even a Servitor, who have fed mine-people for the eons since we left the ether-rivers behind."

One of the guards spoke out in a rapid gush of Eliksni. Tarrhis raised a hand, nothing more than lifting a single arm, and the protest stifled to a stop. Even Ikharos couldn't believe what he was seeing. It was preposterous, and yet there was no denying what was happening.

"You are holy. You are noble-stood among the anointed. You are a bastion, under which we may all take shelter, where we may rally and prove ourselves once more. You are Kingkiller. You stood before the Maw of Oryx and did not falter. Did not fail. For this I bow to you. You are the downfall of tyrants, the emissary for that most precious, and the figurehead of war most honourable."

"I don't-"

"I am Scar and Scarred. I was only an unseeing hatchling when the Whirlwind took everything from us. We do not retain memories as unthinking infants, but I remember the hunger that chased us, both our empty bellies and of the Dark behind us. I want nothing more than to see Riis again, ether-rivers flowing, but that is the forlorn wish of a father who wants something better for his son than a bare alcove to sleep in."

"Father-" One of the Vandals present began, but a dangerous flash of Tarrhis' eyes put an end to it.

"I prostrate myself before you, _Ikha Riis,_ " the Baron continued. "I exult in the presence of the Great Machine, and I will let none dissuade me from this. If you had been an _eliko_ , then you would have been a worthiest Kell to follow. As it is, I acknowledge your noble standing and speak to you as befitting your station. You are deserving of it. I name you Kingkiller, _Kirzen_ , and recognize your standing of lordship. I bestow upon you an honour in recognition of your actions when assassins sought my demise."

"... Kiphoris told you about Oryx?" Ikharos eventually asked. The Baron inclined his great head. "Alright," he said, for lack of any other response.

"Now I would ask you, _Ikha Riis pak Kirzen_ , what is Nezarec?"

Ikharos sighed and let go of his gathered power, allowing the Void to flow back into the spaces between realities. "I'm not entirely sure. He's hijacked the Hive Sword Logic to turn himself into another of their Dark gods."

"And you claimed the assassins operate on his orders?"

"Orders? I doubt it. He's hibernating. But they _are_ working to further his interests. The Exos are, in any case. He's turned them to his side, along with the commanding Submind - a powerful AI specializing in military action. The Shades... well, I don't know as much about the Shades as I'd like. If I had to take a guess, then I'd say they're a distorted reflection of my own kind. One of the Exos last night said something about me not being the only Guardian to reach this world." He paused. The idea that there might be another Risen out there was more than a relief. "Maybe Nezarec took inspiration."

"Why does this concern the human king?"

"Because Nezarec is, in all likelihood, using him to gather sustenance."

Formora took over. "When Galbatorix wandered the wilds after his first dragon was killed, a Shade found him and saw in him the chance to upturn Alagaësia's stability. Durza has guided Galbatorix for the past century. Even without drawing Nezarec into it, Galbartorix deserves death. _That_ is the boon I ask."

For a minute silence reigned supreme. Tarrhis scrutinized the two of them closely. Finally, with an explosive hiss, he rose and began to pace about. "Hive gods! We should not meddle in such affairs! You ask too much, Wishbreaker. I will not stand against a demon. Especially if he turns mine-people like he did the traitor Scar you slew."

"I'll be the one to fight him," Ikharos said quietly. "And no one else. I won't risk anyone else empowering him. Galbatorix and Shades are the immediate issue. We don't have the means to track them. Or oppose them, if they gather together."

"We should leave!" Tarrhis shook his heavy head. "As soon as we reclaim the Monoliks-Syn, we could retread the stars!"

"Even a Ketch wouldn't make it into orbit. The Warmind would tear you to pieces. Or fling you right back down to start over again."

"Ah yes. The cursed machine." Tarrhis' voice dripped with contempt, though he respectfully directed it away from Ikharos. The Warlock was left... unnerved. "Have the humans no leash on their pets?"

"You mean a killswitch? If he has one, he'll guard it with all his power. We'd have more luck with Nezarec than with Scipio. And you don't want a Warmind for an enemy. They can make your life hell." He gave a shrug. "Look, I'll write you a report if you want, but the short of it is that we're _all_ stuck here."

Tarrhis gave a deep sigh and perched himself back onto the pillar. "That was my fear. This boon is asking much of me, as deathless demons are beyond even the worthiest of Scars. If you assure me it will not be so, then this _may_ be within my reach." He ran his claws against the Warbeast's pelt. "If you are capable, then this would be a grand story, yes?" He chuckled. After a moment, he said, "There is a favour that I too must ask. Do you know why we are here, Kingkiller, Wishbreaker?"

"To increase ether production?" Ikharos guessed.

Tarrhis nodded. " _Eia_ , and now we have it. My warriors will grow and strengthen. We fight for our banner against a shadow of an old wound - Taniks. The traitor wounded our banner with his insurrection, but he left his brother Krinok, the Ether-Thief behind. _Valdas-kel_ allowed the Wretch to live, if only because he and Taniks were often at odds with one another." The Baron growled. "It was a mistake. Now Valdas is dead, and only one of her heirs survives. Krinok claims he is Kell. He is without honour, without reverence for the traditions and histories of our people. He must die."

"And you want us to help you do that? A death for a death."

" _Eia_ , grim dealings indeed," Tarrhis agreed. "But necessary. Your foe is my foe, and Krinok is no friend of yours, of that I can assure you. He does not respect the Great Machine, and though he was not close with his brother, he may still hate you for killing Taniks."

"He doesn't have to know."

Tarrhis shook his head. "All mine-Scars know of your deeds. Word will inevitably reach the traitor."

"Lovely," Ikharos said bitterly.

"We accept," Formora said. Ikharos sent her an irritated glance, though she stubbornly looked ahead.

A new presence suddenly touched Ikharos' mind. He suppressed a flinch and raised his defenses, looking around for the perpetrator. The voice that rang out from within, however, he found he recognized. " _We need allies._ "

" _Maybe, but we do_ not _need more enemies. We already have Nezarec's forces and the Cabal to deal with._ "

" _This is my home. I won't let it be torn apart,_ " Formora firmly told him.

"It's too late for that. The universe has caught up."

" _Will you stand by as innocent lives are scattered and lost?_ " Formora challenged. " _I thought you objected to that._ "

He scowled. " _This will mean a war unlike anything you've known before. Just remember, when you find yourself caught in a real firefight, that you asked for this._ "

The Baron slammed a fist against his breastplate and began speaking in High Speech. "I, Tarrhis, the Oathkeeper, do swear to stand by Formora, the Wishbreaker and _Ikha Riis_ , the Kingkiller and treat their foes as my own. If mine-oath is betrayed, let me be devoured by Hive-Wyrms." When he finished, he gave them an expectant look.

Formora bowed her head. " _Eka otherúm eom faedhír Krinok_ ," she swore in the ancient language. The Eliksni, despite not knowing the tongue, gave a start as the statement's meaning made itself.

"Language of magic," Tarrhis murmured, fascinated. He leaned forward eagerly. After a brief moment, he switched his gaze to Ikharos.

* * *

_"I need to ask you to do something."_

_"Shoot," Lennox's grin was wide. She was excited. He blamed himself for that. There was a heavy click as she loaded her rifle and braced it against her shoulder._

_"Promise me you'll stay back. Use your Shadowbow, clear off the Psions before they grow, and don't let the Vandals pick us off, but leave her to me."_

_"And let you take all the glory?"_

_He struggled to contain his growing frustration. "This isn't a game. If she catches you, there won't be any coming back."_

_Her smile never died, but her optics - a soft yellow - dimmed with heartfelt warmth. "Don't worry. We'll get through this. Right Gecko?"_

_"Right," the green Ghost shyly agreed._

_"And then we'll tell Jaxie all about how we single-handedly saved the day - again."_

_"Please..."_

_"Fine, I'll leave it to you. Satisfied?"_

_"Very," Ikharos sighed._

_"Hey, Ike!" Quantis waved to them. "Are we going or what? Come on!"_

_"Off to slay the dragon, eh?" Lennox clapped him on the shoulder. "Let's go."_

* * *

The Warlock reluctantly echoed the oath. " _Eka otherúm eom faedhír Krinok._ "

Tarrhis gave a throaty growl. "Then we are bound together by chains of honour and magic, and fated to walk the same path. We will walk, and we will share our strength so that none are left diminished and lost. Now," he gestured to one of his attendants, a Dreg with her docking clamps recently removed. She dipped her head and presented the Baron with a pile of smooth metal discs clutched in her hands. Some bore scratches from the blades and claws that tore them out of their bodies. "The matter of the assassins. Kiphoris tells me you may be familiar with these."

"I'm not," Ikharos admitted. "But their function is obvious, now that we know the Exos are still alive."

"I shall set Splicers to break down their firewalls and flay the knowledge from their minds. When they are empty of secrets they will be scrapped. Drotos?"

"Of course, mine-Baron." Another of the Eliksni, who stood as large as Kiphoris but wore ceremonial robes rather than the armour of a Captain, gave a deep bow. He turned to Ikharos and twisted his hand outwards to deliver a _miurlis_ salute, flexing his claws and then grasping a handful of air. "It is an honour, Child of the Great Machine. I am _Drotos-Achris pak Helkren._ Would you gift us your disc?"

Ikharos turned to Xiān. The Ghost wordlessly transmatted it into the air and held it there. Drotos gawked at the process, and delicately grasped it in cupped hands. His eyes met Ikharos' own. "Your Servitor is impressive, despite its size."

"Damn right," Xiān mumbled in English. Ikharos couldn't help the smile. Her bravery knew no limits.

"You track another assassin, _Kirzen_ _?_ " Tarrhis asked suddenly

Ikharos' smile was quickly replaced with a frown, and he sent Kiphoris a sidelong glance. _Tattletale._ "Not an assassin, but certainly aligned with them. He's the whole reason we came to Ceunon."

"Did you catch the creature's scent?"

"We did. It's a few months old, but we have reason to believe the Shade went south, further into the empire. Our target city is a week away if we set off on hoverbike-"

"No."

Ikharos was taken aback. "... No?"

"I will not allow such a creature to survive another week. Their existence is an insult to the Scars, and to the Great Machine."

"They are heretics," Drotos added. His pale-red robes flowed to the ground and rustled whenever he so much as twitched. A myriad of Eliksni runes dotted the cloth, prayers written in High Speech.

Tarrhis clicked his mandibles in grim anticipation. "I have already begun preparations. I had prepared to request you to investigate these assassins on my behalf, _Ikha Riis_ , but your soul is already set towards vengeance." It seemed to bring the Baron some measure of amusement, if his closed outer pair of eyes were any indication. "Mine-strength is in war. Mine-Captains-loyal Sundrass and Palkra are as I am. Together we may fight and win battles. But not Kiphoris, whom I hold in high regard. Kiphoris is mine-huntsman. He is a stalker of great prey, and he stalks in my name. He is a ranger of lands unseen, my avant-courier of stars unexplored. His Wolf spirit is willful, of that I have learned, but his dedication is not to be doubted. These assassins sought to corner me like prey and butcher me, yes? Then I will send my huntsman to return the favour."

In two long strides, Tarrhis stood over Ikharos. The disparity in size was blatant. The Baron rasped through his helmet, "I bid you join him, _Kirzen_. You are a Light who will illuminate the shadows. With _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_ , you will find your way is quicker." The Baron turned to his Captain. "Am I understood? Scar-foes are these Shade beings, not those who walk under the gaze of the Great Machine. What say you, Kiphoris?"

Kiphoris saluted the Baron. "So be it. I will stay my blade," he said stiffly He brushed past Ikharos, his every step filled with self-confidence and cold precision. He was so obviously a Wolf, even without being told Ikharos would have known it from watching him.

Tarrhis watched him leave with apparent disappointment. "He was a rare find," the Baron said, after the Captain disappeared. "And fortunate. The bite of his ancestors has been felt in every House, but we do not begrudge it. The Edge Wars do not pertain to our now-troubles. Whirlwind-Scatter has changed us. However, I will not see our tapestries stained and forgotten." The Baron turned to Ikharos. "We will desert this place before the rotation is out. You, too, must leave. Skiffs shall launch before the day falls."

"What will you do?"

"I will grow my warriors." Tarrhis stood. He had the same overpowering presence of a Kell or Archon. "Join Kiphoris - he knows his task."

Ikharos bowed his head and left the room.

* * *

The moment they were out of the keep, Ikharos sagged and leaned against the outer wall. He closed his eyes and tried to find solace in the peace of the nullscape. The clatter of working Fallen and the thrum of their machinery didn't help in the slightest. Nor did Xiān as she returned to his mind, but he didn't mind _that_. She was a source of constant comfort and camaraderie for him. His best friend, and he wouldn't trade that for the world.

"You don't approve," Fomora observed. She stood stock still, watching him closely. A Scar walked past her, muttering polite greetings to both of them as he headed into the castle.

"I... don't know." Ikharos pushed away from the wall. He breathed in the cool spring air and tried to glean some measure of calm from that. He'd always liked the outside world over the restrictions of civilization. He'd be happiest camping out in the wilds. He always thought best when he was out there. "But it's not really my choice. I don't know this world. I don't know your people. You do. I haven't acknowledged that before, so... yeah, consider your expertise acknowledged."

She didn't reply.

"Maybe this is the right path. Hell, I could make a dozen arguments in favour of it, but-"

"Why don't you?" Formora questioned

"Because I'm uncomfortable," he answered as honestly as he dared. "They threatened to kill us. But I guess that's a personal issue. And I suppose it shouldn't impact the mission. We've all got to make sacrifices." He shook his head. "I've got to get back to Kida. Collect your things." He looked around at the empty city. Nothing but Eliksni, and they only stayed around the castle. "Ceunon's done for, no matter what happens next."

She grabbed his arm before he could wander off. " _Why_ are you uncomfortable?"

"Would you be comfortable working alongside Urgals? After all they've done? All the innocent people they've killed?"

Formora froze for a moment. Finally, with slow consideration, she said, "No, but I would swallow my pride and continue to uphold my duty, if the cause were just. And this cause _is_ just."

"... Then I suppose I can't argue with you there." He smiled weakly. "Who knows? This could be for the better."

But he didn't believe it.

**000**

Zhonoch wore a scowl as he marched to the Primus' field office. He was late. The soldiers milling about outside moved out of the way. He'd worn his best uniform for the occasion. Oh how he hated it. It was too tight around his neck, it constricted his movements, and it didn't provide near as much protection as his Soulrazer suit did.

"Makes you look presentable," Tlac had told him. "You know, for those times when you're not covered in gore and grime?"

As agitated as he was, that memory lessened his dire mood. Somewhat.

"Sir," the Centurion by the bunker's entrance saluted him. Zhonoch didn't even grace the soldier with a response as he strode past. He didn't have the patience.

The inside of the bunker was brightly lit up, and everyone whose voice counted was arrayed around a stout, square holotable. Zhonoch counted almost two score faces around it, half of which he'd met in person. The rest he knew from dossiers he'd studied beforehand. Most were simply Worldbreaker officers, but a few struck his interest. The drooling and eyeless visage of the Erechaani Auxiliary Potentate - a savage creature that called himself Ruuskn - turned his head to greet him with a wide fang-filled smile. The primitive butcher gave a series of throaty grumbles (quite possibly laughter, but Zhonoch couldn't be sure) before speaking in a nigh on unintelligible version of Ulurant. "Soulrazer is here."

"Soulrazers were already here." The speaker a Psion Flayer whom Zhonoch identified as Neuroc, greeted him with a nod. She gestured to Tlac and Cadon. "Or do you not count non-Uluru? That would be rich coming from-"

"ENOUGH!" Da'aurc bellowed. He waved Zhonoch closer. "TAKE YOUR PLACE AND MAKE YOUR STANCE CLEAR! THERE WILL BE NO DALLYING!"

"None," Zhonoch agreed. He met Tlac's one-eyed gaze from across the table. "The Flayers should be the ones to organize a plan of action where the Ahamkara is concerned."

"DENIED!"

"Sir, with all due respect, that is how we always deal with Ahamkara. It _works_. We can't destroy them with airstrikes or artillery. We need to create a Psion killsquad whose sole aim is to-"

"DENIED!" The Primus slammed his fist on the holotable. The corner of the holotable's screen cracked outwards like lightning. "IT IS A FOOL'S ERRAND!"

Zhonoch's frustration grew. "But sir-"

"No further Ahamkara sightings have reached us," one of the Primus' analysts interrupted. "And while the paracausal nature and amorphous capabilities of the beast prevents us from reaching a reliable threat evaluation, we have deemed continued contact with Subject Merida-X8 more likely to result in the instability of the Cabal Empire's presence within the Calatonar system."

"Subject Merida-X8?"

"The human," Tlac told him. Zhonoch grimaced; he didn't need to ask which human. He'd seen the recordings.

The analyst continued. "Subject Merida-X8 is in league with the Eliksni Great House _Kalakhselen_ , though we do not yet know the nature of this relationship. Regardless, the subject is to be treated as an asset to the enemy. Despite reports of an Ahamkara, further analysis indicates that Subject Merida-X8 has likely survived the encounter. Forward scouts report that Eliksni activity within the human settlement 'Ceunon' continues presently, but it is unlikely to last given their nomadic tendencies. The subject has been sighted with them."

"TELL ME ABOUT THE HUMAN!" Da'aurc shouted, looking at Cadon. "YOU SPOKE WITH IT?!"

The sniper closed his eye briefly. "After I escaped from my cell, I captured a human hostage and instructed her to lead us out of the keep so that I could leave the settlement, but the Ahamkara cut us off by the exit. It pursued us inside until we encountered the subject. He was with one of the Eliksni nobles, identity unknown. They appeared to have been working together, quite possibly to fight off the other intruders."

"Yes, we've read your initial report," Neuroc nodded. "We currently do not know who or what these creatures are. While their aim appears to be the destruction of the outlaw organisation, it should not be assumed that their goals align with our own, or that they may be possible candidates for induction into the Cabal Empire. As they are responsible for the murders of Legionary Valx and Phalanx Gre'elk, this new force is to be considered a foe of the empire."

"UNDERSTOOD?!" Da'aurc demanded.

"Understood!" They all barked back, so synchronized that their voices melded together to form a strange harmony.

Neuroc gestured to Cadon. "Please, continue."

Cadon did so. "I suspect the Ahamkara sensed his presence, as it ceased its pursuit before the subject could notice it. When my hostage informed the subject of the proximity of the Ahamkara, he didn't appear as bothered as he should have been."

"Perhaps he didn't know what an Ahamkara is," Valus Re'eir mused.

Cadon shook his head. "Negative. His words indicated otherwise. We came to a stalemate, as both I and the outlaws drew weapons. At first the human ordered me to surrender. I refused."

"Good boy," Val Teremac murmured.

"The human reminded me that the Ahamkara could arrive at any moment, though he was himself unconcerned. When I refused again, he... let me leave."

Zhonoch frowned. It didn't seem logical. A wave of whispers swept across the table.

"I don't believe," Ruuskn gnashed his oversized fangs. "Why let live?"

"Agreed," Neuroc said reluctantly. "The human slaughtered Val Brutis and almost half those under her command, including an entire Goliath division. Why would he spare you?"

"I can't answer that, as I do not know myself," Cadon replied.

"SHOW THE CREATURE!" Da'aurc ordered of his nearby technicians. The holotable lit up, and a still image of the human blazed up in clear orange light. His armour was ripped and smoking, and he was engulfed in a what appeared to be flames. The human held a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. "WHAT ELSE DO WE KNOW?!"

"Paracausal nature, similar to but far exceeding that of a Flayer's abilities," his analyst reported. "Physical weaponry was highly varied; subject appeared to drag new firearms out of the air whenever he so needed them. That, coupled with his unnatural abilities, allowed him to crush the Ceunon garrison. He possesses an accelerated healing factor that average humans simply do not have. It rivals that of Erachaani shocktroopers, but even then... Sir, to put it simply, he did not die. When subjected to force that would annihilate anyone, even Uluru, Subject Merida-X8 did not perish. How this drastic difference in power levels between it and other humans came to be is unknown. Whether it is alone, or if there are other such entities, is also unknown."

Tlac raised his hand. "I _may_ have an answer for that."

"SPEAK!"

"According to delayed Red Legion reports received prior to the current campaign - among them the confirmation of the Dominus' death - a species remarkably similar to these humans was mentioned. I would also like to mention that those responsible for the death of the Dominus were said to possess 'physically illegal abilities' much like Subject Merida-X8. Reports from Ceunon's seizure by Eliksni forces mirror those from the remnants of Red Legion in the Trappist system."

"You mean... agh, more Traveler-spawn!" Teremac growled. "More lowlives to leech off of us. More outlaws to harry our borders while we fight a _real_ war."

"I'm afraid the implications of this present a much larger threat," Tlac raised his voice. "It is my hypothesis that this system we find ourselves in is an extraneous human territory. The Red Legion reports were brief, and failed to present anything other than their defeat and subsequent collapse, meaning that we are unfortunately lacking on intel concerning humans."

"The humans are too primitive to build a colony in a different system!" Re'eir scoffed.

"What about the weapons system that brought us down?" Tlac challenged. "The humans we've enountered are indeed primitive, but Subject Merida-X8 is not. That much is clear. Neither were those forces that attacked the Eliksni lacking in advanced technology, and their resemblance to humans is... uncanny. I do not believe it to be coincidence. There may be factions of humans who might stand to challenge us for control over the system. And one of them has allied with the Eliksni."

A silence fell over the table as the implications sunk in. Zhonoch mulled the problem over and tried to imagine a battle with more of those monstrously powerful humans. It wouldn't take much to tear apart an entire legion. Only a few hundred. And if there were that many... they could become just as large an enemy as the Hive. The Cabal wouldn't survive that. The empire couldn't even hold back the swarms as it was.

"COMMUNICATIONS ARE CUT OFF!" The Primus announced. "WE WILL NOT RECEIVE REINFORCEMENTS! WE WILL NOT RECEIVE RESUPPLIES! WE MUST ADAPT AND HOLD OUR POSITION! WE WILL RECONVENE WHEN A PLAN OF ACTION IS REACHED! YOU ARE ALL DISMISSED!"

* * *

Zhonoch walked with the Soulrazer Psions in complete silence. His fury hadn't subsided; he still had no idea what Da'aurc was even thinking. Ahamkara or the human, it didn't matter. They needed to eliminate the problem before it destroyed them. The delays could only hurt them.

When they arrived at the Soulrazer camp, Tlac headed straight into the hovel of salvaged metal slabs they called an office. It only served to remind him how dire their situation was. Their resources were finite. Black oil they could possibly mine for, but they'd have to range far to find a pocket of it hidden beneath the earth. More worryingly was the food. When it ran out, they'd have to resort to raiding human territories, and that would serve to draw attention from their enemies. Eliksni were far from an army, but as pirates they'd long since proven themselves a scourge to the empire. And here, on this wild frontier, they had the upper hand.

The only defence Zhonoch's Cabal had was the shelter provided by the motionless Magnus Vae. The carrier could still weather a dozen battles, and if they so desire they could transform it into a stronghold that not even the Eliksni could breach, but the Primus was adamant that they repair it. Zhonoch couldn't argue with that. An airborne carrier was a siege weapon few could resist, and given the choice of warship or fortress, he'd choose warship too. It was the Cabal way. Better to be on the offensive than on the defensive.

"Didn't go well?" Orche asked upon seeing their grim expressions. Or more likely picked up on his brothers' moods.

"The Primus is being difficult," Zhonoch snarked grumpily. "He's refusing to act. It's a mistake, and it'll cost us, come dragon or human."

"That's not good." The strategist looked legitimately troubled. It only lowered Zhonoch's hope of finding anything to salvage out of the mess. "Come on. Tlac, sweep for bugs. Cadon, close the door."

His brothers followed his instructions wordlessly. Zhonoch followed Orche inside. "What's going on?"

"This." Orche dropped a trio of datapads onto their steel-wrought table. He handed one over to Zhonoch. The Vigilant snatched it up and began skimming through it.

After a moment, he said "This... this is just a file on Da'aurc."

"Read the highlighted section."

Zhonoch did so. "Crest of Strength... Crest of Fire... Crest of Steel... Crest of Unspoken Fortitude. Awards in recognition of his service and deeds."

"Exactly!" The strategist exclaimed.

Zhonoch's frown only deepened. "What's so special?"

"Crest of Unspoken Fortitude. He's dealt with Ahamkara before. I've combed through the carrier's surviving databanks for it."

"So...?"

"Not just one either. Four, each on a separate occasion. I _knew_ something didn't make sense. Protocol dictates that Ahamkara are to be handled by loyal Psion Flayers, and their metaconcert is to be supported wholly by the legions. All four dragons were put down and their remains disintegrated. Da'aurc has presided over those four events as the commanding officer, and in each he followed protocol. Until now."

"You think he's getting ambitious?" Zhonoch asked. "That he wants the glory for himself?"

"What glory does he need? By the gleam of Acrius, he's already a decorated Primus! One of Umun'arath's favourite generals! What would he gain by killing an Ahamkara without the assistance of Flayers?"

"I'd say maybe he hates Psions, but..." Tlac replied. "... he doesn't, does he? Not from what I've seen. He's no Uluru-Purist. He wouldn't have been promoted to Primus if he was. He's practical in his methods."

"Until now," Orche repeated.

Cadon offered his own explanation. "Maybe he's scared?"

Orche shook his head. He pushed the second datapad forward. "Look at this. The Siege of Dunrasken."

"I've heard about that." Zhonoch nodded. "Damn good work."

"It was. Da'aurc served as a Valus at the time, bond-brother to the Primus. His Primus died in battle, and command fell to him. His cohort was stranded on-world, surrounded by the enemy, and they persisted until reinforcements arrived. No, not persisted; thrived! They almost beat the natives into surrender on their own! They took heavy losses at first, but they recovered and hit back just as hard. An Uluru like him should have no problem with our current situation. It looks dire now, but he should know that it can be turned around. He's not scared. I don't think Da'aurc _can_ get scared. The things he did during the siege... Reminds me of Zhonoch."

The Vigilant chuckled. "I like that." His mirth died away, replaced by a cold seriousness. "What's this all about?"

Orche lifted the third, and final, datapad. "Why are we here in the first place? Us, not the Worldbreakers."

"To investigate for Hive contraband," Tlac answered. His eye widened. "Wait, you don't think..."

The Psion strategist nodded gravely. "It's so easy to slip something in someone's drink, isn't it?"

"It's even easier to make false accusations," Cadon argued. "Let's not jump to conclusions. The Primus is acting odd, yes, but we've been confronted with a force we don't understand. The human-"

"You think the Primus is being influenced," Zhonoch stated. Orche blinked.

"I do," he said after a moment's pause. "I'm certain. His recent actions are... unprecedented. He's not one to stray from protocol."

"There may be others."

"There _will_ be others. Those who've infected him."

"We need to confirm this. And present it before the Worldbreakers with evidence Those who still have their minds." Zhonoch gritted his teeth. "Not a word of this leaves this room. If it reaches the Primus before we're prepared he'll have us killed, whether he's infected or not. He still commands the Worldbreakers."

"But not the Soulrazers," Tlac reminded him. "We can start by sweeping through our own first. I doubt the traitors have reached any of them. We'll be subtle, and there won't be any reason for anyone to ask why."

"But after?"

"We'll need hard evidence. We'll need to know if Da'aurc has contraband of his own."

"That'll be even more dangerous. I imagine he keeps his personal effects in the Magnus Vae. Reaching them without raising suspicion will be impossible, and trying to break in will be cause for execution." Zhonoch sighed. "This is getting worse and worse. We can't afford to take any more losses, or we'll stand to lose any hope of conquering this world."

Cadon's eye shone with worry. "This is insane..."

"Do you still doubt me?" Orche asked.

"... No, I don't doubt you," the sniper replied. "What I mean is I don't need this. I've just escaped from an Ahamkara to come back to... It's ridiculous."

"It's our job," Tlac softly reminded him. The Flayer met Zhonoch's gaze. "We're duty bound."

Zhonoch signaled his agreement with a grunt. "That we are. We'll need to expel any traitors in our ranks before they spread their infection. Tlac, begin with our Flayers. If you find a traitor, don't give them away - we'll deal with them later. If someone's confirmed loyal, bring them up to date. Our agents know how to keep their traps shut."

"Understood."

**000**

"You hunt," Sundrass noted. Her eyes seemed to cut through him like sharpened knives. Kiphoris winced.

" _Eia_ , Tarrhis orders it. He seeks justice for those we lost. As do I."

"And the humans will leave us?"

"Our Baron has seen fit to burden me with them." He held up his hands to stop her impending complaint. "I will not oppose his decision. It is not my place. He has been supportive of me, so though it gives a bitter taste, I will not disappoint him. _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_ is our best hope, and we must remember that."

Sundrass sighed. " _Eia... Eia_ , you are correct. He has taken liberties with the human that it does not deserve, but... it is not my place to criticize him."

Kiphoris nodded understandingly. "We will survive, _Sundrass-Veskirisk_. I will not allow our people to dwindle away."

"We will not be forgotten," Sundrass placed a hand on his metal-clad shoulder and pulled him close enough that she could press her helmet against his. "We are Scars. We will weather this storm like all the others, yes?"

"We will." He closed his eyes and trilled. After a few moments he pulled away. "Farewell, Sundrass."

"Farewell, Kiphoris."

His blood burned and his ether frosted. Kiphoris found he could hardly breathe. He lowered his head and marched away, back to the city's plaza. There, he put a hand against his chest. His hearts hammered uncontrollably, though whether out of fear or something else he could not decide. Maybe it was a mixture of all those emotions, a potent broth of chaos beyond his understanding. He didn't want to leave. He feared the Scars would suffer without him to help them, which was ridiculous. With an irritated growl, he forced the thought from his mind and tried to placate his hearts before they burst out of his chest.

* * *

His personal Skiff stood apart from the others. It was a clean bronze devoid of the designs most nobles afforded their vessels, simply because he hadn't chosen what way to paint it. The painting of ships was an ancestral tradition, particularly in House Rain and Judgement, and it was something that the Scars - who kept those traditions alive and well - encouraged. For as long as he'd been Captain, Kiphoris hadn't known what to do. He'd contemplated mirroring the styles of Reef symbolism, but he'd held back on the premise that it would raise questions he couldn't answer.

Now, though, those answers made themselves apparent. They'd searched him out through time and space, and found him again. He wasn't happy to see the past return.

Almost the entirety of his crews were to be absorbed into Tarrhis' host while this hunt persisted. Normally he'd appoint another to take command, such as Raksil, but the Baron's son had been harshly reprimanded for his actions during the attack. Though Tarrhis was noticeably relieved to see his remaining son still breathing, he'd been furious that the eliko had drunk himself into obliviousness straight after a battle. Victories should be celebrated, but one must always be ready for a counter-attack, particularly when Cabal are concerned.

A few warriors remained for Kiphoris to use, and those he'd chosen himself. He met Calzan, one of his own, by the rear of the Skiff helping a Splicer named Javeks lug in equipment and crates of supplies. A young Servitor, Obleker-17, hovered nearby and warbled pleasantly upon seeing the Captain.

" _Velask, Kiphoris Veskirisk!_ " Javeks saluted.

"Ah, _Drakkir!_ " Calzan greeted warmly and firmly grasped Kiphoris' forearm. "This is exciting, eh? It will be a hunt unlike any other!"

Kiphoris nodded briefly and assumed a neutral expression. Inwardly he disagreed, but circumstances as they were forced him to play along. If Krinok hadn't begun his foolish uprising, Kiphoris would have advised hiding away until whatever conflict lay between the Shades and the Light-Thief burned itself out, then sweep in to clean up the mess they left behind. His people had no business involving themselves in such matters. Ceunon should have taught them as much.

It all went unsaid, however. Tarrhis was Baron, and what his Baron ordered Kiphoris would see through, whether he liked it or not.

"Be wary, Calzan," Kiphoris instructed the old Vandal. "We face foes unlike any we have known before. Humans are crafty creatures, craftier than they appear, and I suspect these Shades are just the same."

"As you say," Calzan closed his outer eyes and returned to work. "Javek!"

"Sorry!" The Splicer raced to help the Vandal.

Kiphoris clicked his mandibles and swept into his ship. The hold was filled with containers full of supplies and equipment, some of it stolen from Cabal. He barely had enough Eliksni for half a crew, but he wasn't bothered by that. Tarrhis needed more soldiers in case of another attack, and Kiphoris would attract less attention if he traveled with fewer. He was to hunt, after all, not to conquer. If he needed assistance he could report back to Tarrhis.

He found Formora at the front of the hold, beside the hatch to the cockpit. She was rooting around in one of crates, but a quick glance confirmed it wasn't one of his. The crate had the insignia of the Great Machine on its side; it belonged to the humans.

"Greetings," he began. Formora's eyes darted to him and she quickly pulled back from the crate. Her mouth thinned to a horizontal line, and her gaze hardened.

"Kiphoris," she replied evenly.

He supposed he had only himself to blame. He'd hardly been the polite and gracious creature he liked to present himself as after they'd found Ikharos, but she'd also been the one to draw a gun on him. In which case they were both to blame.

Kiphoris didn't know what drove him to disregard the hostile action. Maybe he felt nostalgia. Maybe he was just more forgiving of humans than of his own kind. He was fair, but an attempt upon his life would ensure at least the loss of a limb in a fellow Eliksni, and yet he felt no such inclinations now.

"Pardon our past problems," he began diplomatically. "We may greet anew, without cause for anger."

She slowly nodded, but her eyes never left him. "We can do that."

He blinked. An odd smell reached him, and he perked his head up. "What is that scent?" He asked aloud. He followed it directly to the box. "It is of strange-steel and clean-rock, fueled with life."

Formora stepped aside and made room. Taking the invitation, he walked over and peered into the crate. It was full of swords. They were all forged with different colours, and each had a smooth-cut gem inbuilt into their pommels. He picked one out and held it aloft, admiring the broadsword's edge in the Skiff's artificial light. "Such a blade..." He tilted it, watching as the cream-and-honey coloured metal appeared to shift with every movement. It weighed little, and there wasn't a speck of rust to be found. It was flawless.

"It belonged to a Rider named Daleigh," Formora quietly explained. "His dragon, Telvroth, was beautiful. His sword was forged to mirror that."

"This belonged to a Dragon Rider?" Kiphoris asked, surprised. His gaze wandered over the golden peridot at the bottom of the hilt, watching as it caught the ambient light out of the air and glowed from within.

"They all did."

"Those Riders must have been fearsome, armed with these swords."

"They were," she said softly.

Kiphoris clicked appreciatively. "Fine collection. They are well-made. How did you gather them?"

"When the Riders fell, there was a rush to gather the artifacts of power they once held and secure them from jealous rivalss. I hoarded their weapons."

"I am almost envious." He delicately returned the sword to its place.

"Almost?" Formora asked.

Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. " _Eia_. They are beautiful, but none suit me. They are for humans, not Eliksni. If I consume enhanced more ether, I will grow too big to use them." He drew his Wolfblade, Ka'Den. Fate had driven the Ahamkara to them, he was certain, to have returned the sword to an Eliksni of the correct lineage. The weapon was almost as long as he was tall, and the hilt was designed for a two-handed grip. A wrapping of blue-dyed leather from an ancient Riisen beast provided the hilt with an excellent grip. "This is better for me."

The sudden clank of metal on metal drew his attention to the rear of the Skiff. Ikharos walked inside, his armour whole and vibrant. Beside him limped the Frame he'd been repairing earlier, it's head a bare collection of wires and a single dimmed optic upon a thin neck strut. The robot struggled to walk up the ramp, and it looked around like an awestruck hatchling only just freed from its egg-molt.

"Kida," Formora said stiffly.

The robot didn't have a vocabulator to respond, so it just stared at her.

"You messed up," a new voice snarked. Kiphoris squinted at the small Ghost hovering over Ikharos' shoulder. It was such a tiny thing. So fragile.

"Didn't have enough time, is all," Ikharos groaned. "You want to get back to it? Be my guest."

"Oh please."

The human sighed. "Kida? Enter standby mode. Xiān will fix you up."

The Frame stepped to the side of the hold and went still. The Ghost flew to the robot and began emitting a small beam of Light, transmatting reformatted Glimmer around the robot's head. Scar Glimmer.

Kiphoris stepped forward. He was perhaps a bit too hasty because Ikharos' hand darted to the holstered gun at his hip, but it mattered little to him. They both knew neither would shoot. A line had been drawn, and neither were willing to cross it. Not yet.

"You," the Captain growled. He sheathed Ka'Den. "Before we fly, there must be an understanding between us."

"Yeah, I expected as-"

"No." Kiphoris couldn't hold it back. He jabbed a claw against the Light-Thief's chest. "I will speak now, and you will listen." When Ikharos didn't offer any resistance, he continued. "I tolerate your presence because Tarrhis has ordered it. I tolerate it because of your actions. But I will not forgive you."

Calzan and Javeks peeked in, drawn by the raised voices. He saw them over the human's shoulder, but he was so caught up he didn't care to shout at them.

"You sentenced me to that place," Kiphoris hissed. "I can work with you, I can tolerate you, I can even respect you, but never forgive. Never. Not for leaving me to the machines. And on a new day, when our wars are fought and our enemies are dead, we will fight again. Only one will walk away."

"Agreed." Ikharos remained calm, unintimidated. The diminutive size of the creature and the sheer power he possessed was such a startling contrast that Kiphoris doubted he would ever grow used to it. Here stood the slayer of Oryx. What was he, a displaced Wolf, in comparison?

Kiphoris leaned back, his rage spent. "You act too alive for a dead thing. You are almost a person."

Ikharos didn't look upset. Kiphoris spotted a fatigued acceptance in the human's eyes. "Almost."

* * *

When all the crates were dragged in and his skeleton crew had boarded the Skiff, Kiphoris retreated to the ship's upper deck. He invited the humans to join him as he activated his holotable, bringing up a map of the colossal landmass in which they found themselves. A glowing dot signified their current location in Ceunon at the centre of it.

He decided to broach the topic directly. "You claimed to know where the Shade had journeyed. Show me."

"Gil'ead," Formora said, and she pointed to a city not far south of Ceunon.

Kiphoris' blood went cold. His hearts once more broke free of his reins and hammered away. " _Geel Eid_? Are you certain?"

"Yes." Her brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

For a moment he could not speak. "I encountered humans some time ago. I sent them on with warriors to safeguard their journey. They were walked to _Geel Eid_. But... If the Shade holds it..." He shook his head violently, trying to dispel the worried thoughts. Alkris and Paltis were formidable warriors, and smarter Marauders. They would acknowledge the danger of the city and keep their distance. The humans, though, would have had no such inclinations. They were too young.

"Why commit soldiers to protecting humans?" Ikharos questioned suspiciously.

"For they were special," the Captain barked back. His eyes found Formora. "One was of your Dragon Riders."


	31. The Descent

"How goes the watch?"

"Quietly," Kelund replied. With a jerk of panic, he quickly added on a "Sir."

The sergeant grinned. "Tired, son?"

"Uh, yes sir."

"Give it another hour. I'll send a few boys to relieve you. I want you to get home and get to bed, you understand? No drinking."

"No sir," Kelund quickly shook his head. "No drinking."

"Good lad." The sergeant clapped him on the soldier and walked away. The soldier sighed and huddled closer to the wall. It was a miserable night, cursed with a steady rain and too-large shadows. He hated those. It was next to impossible to do his job, even if his job was only to guard the garrison's entrance. He could hardly hear or see anything. He was lucky, though, that there was an overhang in front of the doors. At least he could keep dry.

His ears perked up. Kelund looked around and strained to listen. It sounded like... a dull hum, but he couldn't tell where it was from. All around him, seemingly. His suspicion grew. What if the beast was coming back? What if-

There was a thump. Then another. And another. And finally a splash in a puddle not twenty paces away. Kelund gaped. Something was there, one foot in the puddle, the rain bouncing off the otherwise invisible form of the figure. He cursed and struggled with his sword, which was typically stuck in its scabbard. He opened his mouth to raise the alarm-

And froze as he felt the cold kiss of steel against his throat. A man, garbed in blue robes and silver plate, had appeared out of thin air right before him.

"Scream and you die," the man threatened. His voice sounded off. Inhuman. Kelund shivered with fear.

"Y-yes sir!" Kelund whimpered. He didn't want to die. He still had so much to do. He had to see the majesty of Tüdosten Lake, the Floating Crystal of Eoam, the tundras beyond Ceunon! He still had to work as a guard until he had enough wealth to his name that Mirie's father would give his blessing to his marriage proposal! He had to-

The man before him raised a hand full of glowing purple, and Kelund knew no more.

**000**

Ikharos caught the soldier and carefully leaned him against the doorframe.

"Dead?" Kiphoris asked him in a hushed voice.

"Asleep," he answered. He regathered the veil of Void and slipped it over him. "Let's go."

They slipped inside the garrison as quietly as they could, only half-aware of where the others were. The building was quiet and dark, only flaming torches for light, and even then only a few brackets lit up, yet the gloom didn't bother them. They could see just fine.

A soldier wandered onto their path and suddenly found himself hoisted up. Before he could cry out, he was clouted across the head. The Eliksni holding him - Kiphoris, Ikharos assumed - quietly stuffed the unconscious man into the first empty room they came across. Once more the small band continued on their way.

The garrison was unusually understaffed. Something had happened and the majority of the soldiers were away. Ikharos could feel residual Darkness, but no concentration. The Shade had been here recently, and it was the very same Shade who razed Ceunon. Formora was right: a stab to the heart was the only way.

They had a general idea of where to go. The damage had been visible from the air. Ikharos steadily made his way up two floors and finally arrived at the room with the gaping hole in the ceiling. Three soldiers - oblivious to his presence, talked amongst themselves as they studied the damage. Old, dried blood stained the floor from among the shattered tiles.

"I smell Eliksni-blood," Kiphoris whispered from beside him. The Captain's cloaking generator hummed in his ear. A soft click emanated from the Eliksni. Other clicks, from the accompanying Marauders, answered him. The patter of rain hid the noise, and the soldiers were none the wiser. "Mine-guards were here."

Ikharos nodded to himself. "Shade too, but not anymore."

"Dead?"

"No. If that were the case this place would be Darker. I'd feel it." Ikharos leaned down and held out his hand. The Dark was faint, only present in residual traces, but those traces acted immediately. He felt tiny pinpricks where it struck as his Light. He shrugged off the uncomfortable feeling and let his Light briefly flare out. Even the tiny particles of what had once been part of the Shade recognized a greater power and retreated an appropriate distance. "But he was hurt. He bled. He must have fought someone. Someone who could give him a challenge, so not a common ruffian. Likely your scouts."

One of the soldiers fell silent. The man peered in the direction of Ikharos and the Eliksni, somewhat concerned. "Hello?"

The other two followed where he was looking. Ikharos held his breath and, making as little noise as he could, drew his bow. His quiver ejected an arrow and he fitted it to the bow, drawing back on the string. He waited for the moment concern evolved into suspicion, but it never came.

"Must be nothing'," the first shoulder shrugged.

Another chuckled. "Rats have you spooked."

"Oh, shut up!"

He eased the tension in his arm. Their obliviousness had saved their lives. Ikharos tapped the shoulder of the Eliksni beside him, and the Marauder passed on the message to its neighbours. They retreated from the room back into the hallway outside. Xiān scanned for nearby lifeforms or surveillance devices and came up with nothing. Just to be sure, Ikharos extinguished the torches with a flick of his hand.

"Shade was here. And mine-scouts." Kiphoris moved with the tense, coiled strength of a Venusian panther. Despite the proximity of the Fallen, Ikharos couldn't find the effort to fear the Captain. Not when he had Light to fight back.

"And something else," Ikharos noted. "Looked like a beast ripped its way inside."

"No beast. Dragon. Her scent lingers. She was here."

"I don't care about the dragon right now." Ikharos scowled distastefully. When Kiphoris didn't say anything else, he sighed and asked, "How long ago?"

"Weeks."

"Recent. Can you track it?"

"Not in rain."

"What do you think happened?"

Kiphoris paused. "No bodies. Too little blood. Mine-scouts did not die. And dragon was not killed here. I would smell it."

"Then?"

"Escaped. Or captured."

Ikharos nodded. "Which is more likely?"

"Mine-scouts would not surrender."

"So we assume they escaped? What about the humans?"

"Humans are their duty, and mine-scouts would not abandon their duty."

"Maybe they had no choice." Ikharos grimaced. "But we know they were here. We need more intel. Let's find someone who looks like they're in charge."

Without another word the five of them moved on. Ikharos always knew exactly where the Marauders were; he could feel the Arc in their cloaking generators. The energy was faint, easy to miss, but he'd tangled with Devils far too often to mistake it. He knew what to look for.

The irony. Here he was, a Guardian and veteran of the Eliksni Siege, working with Fallen against his fellow man. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, but worse yet was the idea that yet another Ahamkara was lurking about. _Better the devil you know._ He glanced over to where he assumed Kiphoris was. _Or Wolf, rather._

They prowled throughout the almost entirely deserted garrison, slipping by unaware soldiers and checking for anyone of rank. Most of those they found were just footmen. For the second most heavily secured city in the empire, Gil'ead sure wasn't living up to its reputation. That in itself spoke volumes. Those soldiers could either be out looking for the escapees, or they could be delivering their new captives to Urû'baen. The only consolation he had was that there weren't any bodies. Tellesa, and whoever she was traveling with, could still be alive.

* * *

They struck upon luck when Ikharos detected a mage. He used the Void to mask his mind as he closed in on the two men as they exited a room. The spellcaster was clad in a thick, waterproof traveling cloak. He was thin and scrawny, and his eyes darted about like he didn't trust his surroundings. Which was warranted, Ikharos supposed, as he grabbed the mage and cracked his head against the wall. The mage went limp and collapsed onto the smooth stone floor, out cold.

His companion, an armoured soldier with an expensive red cloak and a decorative helmet tucked under one arm, twirled around with a knife in hand. He stared at the half-visible Warlock, shocked into silence.

"Put that down before you get hurt," Ikharos murmured. A Marauder stepped behind the man and pressed a deactivated shock dagger against the side of his neck, while also dropping a clawed hand on his shoulder. The soldier didn't need any further convincing; he let go of the knife and held out his hands. His helmet clattered off the stone, and the soldier winced as the sound echoed down the hallway. The Marauder growled.

"Please," the man half-whispered.

Ikharos crossed his arms. Xiān assured him no one was coming to investigate, but it didn't assuage his fears. He pointed to the office where the man and his mage had come from. "Go," he ordered.

Kiphoris clicked in Eliksni, saying, "Eldrin, Kalaker, watch the hall."

"Yes, mine-Captain." Two of the Marauders drew weapons and remained outside as Ikharos as the rest bundled themselves into the office. There was scarce enough room in there for them all. The first Marauder forced their captive to sit in his ornate wooden chair. The man looked around in muted terror as if only just noticing the invisible creatures with them.

Ikharos fully uncloaked himself and took the stool opposite the soldier. "We don't have much time, so I'll skip the pleasantries. Tell us where the Shade is or my friends will eat you."

Kiphoris growled irritably, but it had the effect Ikharos wanted, and their captive rapidly paled. He visibly shook with fear. "Wh-what are they?!"

"Hungry. Answer the question."

"The Shade y-you say? He hunts for..." The man hesitated.

Ikharos leaned forward. "The dragon?" The soldier nodded quickly. "Where?"

The man looked around helplessly and refused to answer. When Ikharos drew his knife, the soldier struggled desperately. A Marauder pushed back down onto the chair.

"You going to tell me or not?"

" _Wait, something's off,_ " Xiān said. " _Check him._ "

Ikharos frowned. He reached out with a mental probe and recoiled upon feeling the tiny presence of something that didn't belong. A force bound around the soldier like shackles. It coiled around him like a serpent, constricting his very being. " _He's made an oath. In the ancient language. He won't tell us anything._ "

" _Maybe he doesn't have to tell us..._ "

Ikharos smiled thinly. He asked the soldier, "Did the dragon escape?"

The soldier nodded.

"Which direction did the Shade go? North?"

The man shook his head. _No._

"South?"

_No._

"East?"

_Yes._

"Into the desert?"

_Yes._

"Did he bring soldiers with him?"

The soldier hesitated, then nodded. _Yes._

"Why so many?"

"It is the king's will that the Rider-

"Rider?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "So the humans _were_ here... What about the others? Were there people with the dragon?"

"Yes!" The soldier answered quickly.

"Human people? How many?"

"Two!"

"Male or female?"

"Just... just two boys."

Ikharos froze. "Are you sure there wasn't a woman with them?" He pressed dangerously.

"N-no." Perhaps the man figured that he was treading a dangerous line, because he began to violently shake his head. "I swear to the gods, no! We never encountered a woman! Just the Rider, another boy, the dragon, and the demon!"

"Demon? Did it look like this?" Ikharos pointed to Kiphoris, who rapidly uncloaked himself. The soldier gasped and sunk down in his chair. He looked on the verge of fainting.

"Yes..." The soldier squeaked in a small voice.

"And were any of them killed?"

"No."

" _Telling the truth?_ " Ikharos asked his Ghost.

She took a second before responding. " _I think so. Want to make him swear it?_ "

" _Not really._ " Satisfied, Ikharos stood up and nodded to Kiphoris. "We're done here."

"You'll let me live?" The soldier blurted.

Ikharos regarded him for a moment. Without warning, he darted forward and flooded the soldier's mind with a subtle touch of Void, emptying him of conscious thought. The man's eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell onto his desk with a dull thump.

* * *

A storm was building up outside. They waited out in the middle of the street as rain pummeled them mercilessly. Ikharos didn't mind. His armour was waterproof, and the pitter-patter of water droplets hitting his helmet was an oddly comforting sound.

The Skiff was suddenly there, hovering above them, and he jumped up to where the eight drop-hatches opened, grabbing hold of an extended steel bar. He pulled himself onto the bar, and then into the ship with practiced movements. This wasn't the first time he'd been in a Skiff.

His sight found the Marauders climbing up through other hatches. First time with Fallen, though.

A Splicer helped him up just as the Skiff shot off. "Find success, _Kirzen_?"

Ikharos shook his head. "Shade wasn't here. But we have a vague idea where he's gone."

Kiphoris uncloaked and shook the water droplets from his armour. "East doesn't help us. It will be difficult to find the Shade when there is so much that way."

"I just need to feel for the Dark in him," Ikharos replied. "I did it before, I can do it again."

"How close do you need to be?"

"A few miles. More if he's careless."

The Captain gnashed his fangs. "This is imprecise."

"It's all we got."

"Bah!" Kiphoris turned to the Splicer. " _Javek-Triilak_ , tell me you have found them!"

The Splicer lowered his eyes. " _Nama_. Whenever we try to reach Alkris and Paltis, we hear only static. Our attempts to triangulate their position have been met with failure. There is a disturbance between them and us."

"A disturbance? Can we reach the rest of our kin?"

"Uh... _Eia_."

"Then use that to learn where this disturbance is. Then we may use that to find our lost scouts."

Javek shifted uncomfortably. "Mine-Captain, as Tarrhis has gathered his forces in a single place, I will only be able to know the direction of the disturbance, not the exact position."

Kiphoris growled. "Do it, Javek. Do not dally. All information is important. A hunter must know all he possible can of both his prey and his surroundings."

"Yes, mine-Captain." Javek scurried further into the ship.

"You run a tight ship," Ikharos noted.

The Captain spared him a blank look. "Of course." And with that, he stormed away.

Ikharos rolled his eyes and cupped a ball of Solar flames, using it to dry off. He noticed that one of the Marauders lingered nearby, exchanging a nervous expression with its fellows. "Speak," he ordered.

The Marauder stood straight, as if it were receiving orders from a superior officer rather than a Guardian. "An honour to work with you, _Kirzen_." Once more he looked back to his companions. "I desire to ask a question."

"Ask away," Ikharos had his Ghost open up a holographic map of the area. There wasn't much to the east aside from hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles of badlands. A huge place to search, but now he had the advantages of a working ship. The Skiff could make the journey across the entire desert in no time if they so desired. It had only taken them a few hours to fly to Gil'ead and drop in.

"Is it true you are Deathless? Like Hive?"

"Deathless, yes, but not like Hive. If you try to test that theory I'll return the favour." He met the Marauder's gaze. "Understood?"

"I… understand, _Kirzen_." The Marauder lowered his head.

"Good." Ikharos traced a finger out in a straight line from Gil'ead. There was a mountain directly to the east. If a Guardian, or Fallen, was on the run, that would be the first place they'd go. Even if they knew their hunters were moving on foot, the instinctual fear of being caught out in the open by airborne foes was strong. They'd want cover, and he was willing to bet the guards would go there. Xiān retracted her map and they delved further into the ship.

Skiffs were roomy enough for a sizable crew, but half the hold was taken up by boxes of ammunition, fuel, and other equipment. Evidently Kiphoris wanted to be prepared for anything. Fallen were accustomed to living in such close proximity, and in uncomfortable conditions, but not humans - especially Formora. She'd been left almost entirely isolated on Vroengard for decades, so the change was a drastic one. Upon seeing him she gave voice to her complaints.

"Will we not land to make camp?" She asked.

Ikharos frowned. "Why?"

"To sleep? Eliksni do sleep, don't they?"

"They do. If you're tired, find an alcove. That's what they do." He gestured to the rest of the hold. The Skiff suddenly rumbled around them, and Formora quickly grabbed hold of her bench. Ikharos found it funny. "Just a little turbulence. I swear, it's like your first time flying."

"Second in a Skiff," she said quietly. "And I flew too many times to count with... with my dragon. But it was never like this."

"You'll get used to it," Ikharos promised. "How goes study?"

Formora scowled and lifted up the datapad he'd left her. "Poorly. Why is Eliksni so complicated?"

"It's really not. English is the complicated language, and we've been brought up on it. The Eliksni just have a certain number of words. They make other words by combining two or three words, or with longer phrases. Sentences are short because they don't have as many 'useless' words. And then some phrases are straight translations. _Velask, Formora-Zeshus_. Hello, Formora-Wishbreaker."

" _Velask_ is their greeting?"

" _Velask_ is a formal greeting, yes. Simply saying _Vel_ is more like saying 'hi'. Informal, between acquaintances or friends, but not relatives."

"Why not?"

"Kin don't usually use greetings. Eliksni families work closely together, so they'd see a lot of each other, thus no need for greetings. If they _are_ separated for some reason and reunite, then they're more likely to use gestures. Or purr."

"Purr? Like a cat?" Her frustration gave way for amusement.

Ikharos smiled. "Not exactly, but the term's stuck. When Eliksni rapidly click their mandibles it's a sign of excitement, glee, or anxiety. Depends, really."

"What about fear?"

"Shaky voice, shivering, similar to us."

"Anger?"

"Negative emotions like rage, suspicion, and disapproval are conveyed through the narrowing or closing of their inner pair of eyes, depending on how strongly they feel about it. If they narrow all their eyes, then they're furious. Closing the outer pair is positive emotion, like happiness or pride."

"They speak through gestures as much as words." She nodded thoughtfully. "What of Kiphoris' sword? Ka'Den?"

His expression turned solemn. "It means 'Burn Forever.'"

"That's... rather grim."

"Grim is their reality, and they aren't subtle about it. They're cunning, yes, sneaky, absolutely, but not subtle. They're warlike, and they take pride in it. Honour is important to them, but so is duty, family, loyalty, and strength."

"You respect them."

Ikharos shrugged. "They're survivors. When the Cabal attacked my home, we suffered but only for a brief period. After we defeated the Cabal, their Legion was left Shattered. Long before that the Fallen attacked my home much like the Cabal did. We defeated them then and there, but they've continued to prove themselves a consistent threat. Devils, Winter, Kings, it doesn't matter. They're all alike in that aspect. The Eliksni came into being before us, and their people will be drifting around the galaxy long after we're dust."

"And you hate them."

"I'd like them a lot more if they changed their cloaks," Ikharos grumbled. "If Kiphoris wore blue Wolf armour, it'd do wonders for my nerves. I keep looking over my shoulder, half-expecting a Devil to plunge a weapon into my back."

"So you just hate the Devils, or..."

"No. Maybe. I just hate the Devils most. I've fought them more than any other House. They're the most... Well, actually, no. I'd call them the most dangerous House around, but I'd be lying. That would be Kings. I've fought Devils aplenty, but whenever the Kings pop their heads out it scares the crap out of me. Those bastards are something else. Thank the Traveler they're gone..."

"Gone?"

Ikharos waved the question away. "Another time. I wanted to ask _you_ something. There's a mountain east of here. Know anything about it?"

Formora nodded slowly. "Marna Mountain. It's unusually tall, and impossible to climb. Other than that, there isn't much I can say. Why?"

"If I were Kiphoris' scouts, that's where I'd head after escaping Gil'ead." Ikharos began making his way to the front of the ship. "Mountains are a godsend."

"Did you find Durza?"

"No, but he was definitely there. We _think_ he's given chase to our friends."

"The Dragon Rider?" Formora asked hopefully.

Ikharos closed his eyes. "I was thinking the Marauders or Tellesa, not... that."

Her hopeful expression died away, replaced by stubbornness. "You still think the dragon is an Ahamkara."

"Either it is or it isn't," Ikharos shot back.

Xiān snorted. " _Well, yeah. Everything's either an Ahamkara or not an Ahamkara._ "

"And if it is," he continued, nonplussed, "I'll deal with it." He patted his Lumina. It was a relief to know it was loaded with real bullets. Having ammunition again was nothing short of a blessing.

Her eyes widened as understanding dawned on her. "No. No! We aren't killing them!"

"If this dragon is an Ahamkara, then I have to-"

"It isn't!" Formora snapped. "After all this time, surely you'd acknowledge that! I was a Rider! _Et skulblaka ero néiat aí Ahamkara!_ "

"Just because you believe it, doesn't make it true," Ikharos retorted coldly. It was harsher than he intended. Formora inhaled sharply, and with a final angry look, she turned around, choosing to ignore him. He sighed. "Dammit."

" _Smooth_."

"Don't," he warned in a whispered voice. "Just don't."

* * *

He found Kiphoris speaking with their grizzled pilot, a Vandal named Calzan. Ikharos relayed what Fomora had told him about Marna Mountain, and then added his own thoughts on it. The Captain immediately agreed with him. "They have good instincts," Kiphoris reasoned. "They would seek a place to hide."

"I will set a course," Calzan muttered. "But this storm is irritating me. It is unnatural."

Ikharos frowned and looked out the viewport. It certainly appeared that way. It had come out of nowhere.

Something tickled the back of his mind.

" _Stop it_ ," Ikharos thought.

" _That's not me._ "

He frowned. Then, as realization set in, he jumped forward and slammed the control yoke downwards. The Skiff tilted down at a sixty-degree angle, and they narrowly avoided the explosion of Arc that would have otherwise torn them apart. The shrapnel of erupted Arc missiles rained down on their ship, the sound indistinguishable from the pitter-patter of rain.

He felt more than saw the second Skiff race out of the clouds like a shark who'd caught the scent of blood. The Arc of the storm broiled around it, a suspiciously Skiff-shaped empty space in the flow of energy, and he could sense that. It was as obvious as an air bubble in water.

Calzan snarled and wrenched the yoke away. Ikharos clambered back and allowed the pilot to reassume control. He closed his eyes and reached out, tracing the threads of Arc in the air. He could sense the thrum of the other Skiff giving chase.

Ikharos turned around and shouted through the bulkhead, "Hang onto something!"

Another explosion rocked the ship before Calzan resorted to drastic maneuvers. Ikharos and Kiphoris grabbed handholds and peered out the viewport, looking for any hint of their pursuers. The Warlock tried his best to crush his rising nausea as Calzan guided the Skiff through a series of rolls and sudden dives.

At some point Kiphoris turned to him and asked, "Can you use your powers?"

Ikharos ground his teeth and once more felt his way out to the unpredictable Arc. It struggled and bucked against his touch, wanting nothing more than to reign free, but he was undeterred. Ikharos began with disarmingly small attempts to calm the storm, and when it refused to comply, he erupted outwards with as much willpower as he could muster. The Arc attempted to break free, and it took every effort to hold it down. He needed to secure it, to leash it, and that would take a few moments. Moments they might not have.

A radio blared to life and a voice marred by static filtered through. "Kiphoris, you mutt! Kiphoris, you hound! I'll have your head, you soulless creature!"

The Captain chuckled, a twinkle in his eyes, and activated the radio's mic. "Ah, Krayd. You do Krinok's bidding now?"

"I'll kill you, you _psesiskar_! I'll dock off your arms first and your-"

Kiphoris switched the radio off.

"Friend of yours?" Ikharos asked, still straining against the power of the storm.

"Krayd? _Nama_. He is one of Krinok's creatures. His family came to us as beggars, cast out of Kings by _Craask-kel_ _._ " Kiphoris closed his inner eyes. "Now we know why. Their plotting is incessant, and they have no loyalty."

Another explosion rocked the Skiff. The Captain turned to Ikharos expectantly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get to it," Ikharos grumbled. He made a fist and grasped onto the static within the clouds. Each strand of Arc was razor-thin and threatened to slice through him, but he failed to react to the superficial cuts into his Light. He dragged the force around, no matter how strongly it resisted, and… it pulled itself out of his grip. Ikharos gave a start: it had been grabbed right from his hands. The storm was beyond his control.

The Arc flooded out in a series of angry lightning bolts, singing the tail of their Skiff. Their pursuers got a face full of the storm's fury and fell back into the cover of clouds, smoke trailing behind them.

"That wasn't me!" Ikharos gasped. The Scars ignored him.

"Shall we destroy them?" Calzan asked eagerly. He quickly dialed in firing solutions and hovered over the trigger.

Kiphoris leaned forward, his eyes picking through the clouds. With a great reluctance he tore himself away. "No. They might not be alone. Mask our signature and make for the mountain." He made a rumbling growl. "We'll kill them another time."

Formora climbed through the bulkhead, holding onto the metal bar built into the walls. "What happened?" She demanded.

"Krinok's pets found us," Kiphoris explained. "But we lost them."

Someone else shouted past the elf in a quick burst of Eliksni, "Are we damaged?"

"I hope not!" Calzan grunted. He fondly caressed the control board before him. "This Skiff is too precious." He locked eyes with Ikharos. "Do you understand me, _Kirzen_?"

"It wasn't me! I didn't call the lightning!"

"Then who?"

"I don't know. The storm did it on it's own." A thought dragged him away from the matter, and he quickly looked back, urgency fluttering in his stomach. "How's Kida?"

Formora stonily met his gaze. "He's fine. Still asleep and strapped in."

"Good. Good…" He sighed in relief.

She ducked back into the hold. Javek replaced her, his head darting around. "Will I be needed?"

"No." Kiphoris practically shoved him out of the cockpit. "Don't show your face until you have results."

"Er, yes mine-Captain!"

Ikharos took the co-pilot's seat. He could still feel the lightning behind him, tearing up the sky. He still couldn't figure out why it didn't buckle under his control. He had enough Arc Light built up.

Calzan spared him a curious look and asked, "Can you fly?"

The Warlock hesitated. "Sort of. You should probably keep at it."

"Ah." The Vandal redirected his attention to the controls set before him.

Ikharos' chair shook as Kiphoris leaned onto it. The Captain loomed over him, eyes bright. "I did not anticipate Krinok to begin hunting for us this soon. That will not be the last of Krayd. It will be likely he has others with him when he finds us again."

"We'll deal with it when it happens."

"That is not what I mean. I need to know if you can do that-" he waved to the storm outside the viewport. "-again."

"No. Storm's too strong. I can't control it," Ikharos answered. "But I can cook up something else if need be."

Satisfied, Kiphoris retreated and left altogether. Ikharos leaned back into the rough Glimmer-woven leather seat. He decided to follow his own advice and tried his best to dispel the anxiety in his heart, but he couldn't shake it. A pit of worry had opened up in his stomach and everything positive fell right through. Xiān enveloped him in reassurances and comfort. " _We'll find her. You know that._ "

" _I'm worried we might be too late. If she knows about Durza's survival, she might do something reckless._ "

" _She's not alone. Kiphoris sent her off with guards._ "

" _That doesn't comfort me. She's just a kid. And I shouldn't have just left like that._ " He closed his eyes. Sleep sounded great, but it was miles away.

" _We_ will _find her. Trust me._ "

" _And the dragon? What's to say it hasn't already destroyed her?_ " Memories of Riven flitted through his mind. He shivered uncomfortably.

" _Now you're scaring me. Just go to sleep. Or I'll make you. You know I will._ "

* * *

They managed to outrun the storm by the time they reached Marna Mountain. Calzan shook Ikharos awake as they circled the lonely peak, and he groggily peered at it with uncomprehending eyes.

" _Think there's caves?_ "

"Oh." He nodded. "Must be."

The mountain was tall, and it rose on an almost vertical spike of rock. The land around it was dry and cracked, with sparse vegetation. For an Eliksni or Risen, it was perfect. All they'd need was to climb up and find a handy nook large enough to house them.

Unfortunately, it looked utterly impossible for any other type of human.

"They're not here," Ikharos realized. "Not if the humans are alive. And... I don't feel the Shade."

He stared at the mountain helplessly, and that was how Kiphoris found him. "Well?" The Captain asked. Ikharos shook his head. The Wolf growled. "A waste of time, and we are without clues. We will have to turn about and risk-"

"Wait!" Ikharos pointed at the summit of the mountain, thousands of feet above the ground. A small clearing laid out, and it looked to be linked to a steep, well-hidden mountain trail. A part of the clearing was shrouded by a rocky overhang. "There."

Kiphoris turned to Calzan. "Can you land us?"

The Vandal scoffed. "Of course."

Ikharos slipped past the Captain. He found a half-dozen faces looking at him, awaiting orders. He hesitated. "Gear up. We might have found something."

The Marauders darted away. Formora blearily looked up at him from where she'd made a makeshift bed on a bench, with a cloak for a blanket. "Have we arrived? Already?"

"Yeah." An awkwardness swept over them, though Ikharos was positive it was only for him. She looked too tired to feel uneasy. He exhaled and checked his Lumina's ammo. Still fully loaded, like it had been since they left Ceunon.

With a final shrug directed at nothing, Ikharos continued to the back of the Skiff and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

The moment the hatch opened, he leapt out with his cannon raised, a pack of armed Fallen behind him. They flooded out in a practiced movement born of common sense and professional experience rather than any real form of cooperation. It was for naught; the clearing was empty of all life. The air was thin, so he activated his helmet's filter. Xiān linked him up to his personal air supply.

But beneath the overhand lurked the remnants of an ancient outpost. Not a primitive dwelling like Ikharos expected, but a fully-fledged bunker with thick steel walls, covered in a layer of dust and markings of an unfamiliar language.

"Here," one of the Marauders, one named Revlis, said, nudging what appeared to be the remains of a long-extinguished campfire. All that remained was a ring of stones. A fat desert spider crawled out from under the displaced rock, startling the alien soldier. The Marauder hopped back and watched with wide eyes as the creature skittered away.

"What... is this?" Kiphoris asked. He too stared at the lightless bunker, which looked to have been abandoned centuries ago. Or millenia.

"Keep watch," Ikharos warned. His eyes darted to every corner, confident they were walking into a trap. "This place could be crawling with Frames and Exos."

They slowly inched their way outwards from the landed Skiff, looking for the vaguest hint of an ambush. Only when he reached the bunker could Ikharos breathe easy. If Exos had been waiting, they would have already taken the shot. "Alright, we're in the clear."

"Relvis, Eldrin, stay. Watch the Skiff, and watch our backs." Kiphoris laid a hand against the shut metal door. He gave the sturdy old thing a heavy kick. It flew open and swung around on its hinges, slamming on the backside of the wall. The inside was painted in darkness, and the bare steel floor was crisscrossed with scratches of rodent claws. The skeletons of the trapped animals lay only a few feet inside.

Xiān cast a light ahead of Ikharos, illuminating what turned out to be a massive cavern within the mountain. At the end lay a stone table upon which a collection of animal skulls lay arrayed like trophies. Or offerings. Before that, though, was a pedestal upon which rested a dusty Golden Age datapad. The sides and ceiling were bare rock, and the rest of the chamber was bare. A strange marking had been drawn into the centre of the room, with a smooth bowl-like structure in the middle of that. More runes dotted the rest of the floor and the walls, but Ikharos couldn't decipher them.

"Check for traps," he muttered. Xiān flew from his shoulder and set about scanning the room. A minute later she returned.

"No pressure plates, no tripwires, no motion-sensing turrets. Nothing. But stay on your guard."

He nodded and carefully made his way forward. The Eliksni spread out behind him, checking the corners. When he reached the pedestal, he double-checked that it wasn't attached to anything before removing the datapad. When nothing happened, he diverted his attention to the dead device.

"Little help?"

Xiān huffed and sent a beam of energy into the datapad. Ikharos pressed the on switch, and the cracked screen lit up. He had to wipe away the outer layer of dust before he could make out the letters. Even then, it was an incomprehensible mess. Just like the markings all around the room.

When Kiphoris reached him, the Captain asked, "What is it?"

"I... don't know this language." He looked up. "It's not Earthen."

He handed it over. Kiphoris skimmed through it with a perplexed expression. "No. And neither is it of any I understand. Not Eliksni, not of any Cabal dialect. Perhaps your Harmony language?"

"Maybe, but I don't know how to read that. Though Formora might."

Kiphoris turned about. "Kalaker, fetch _Formora-Zeshus._ "

"Yes, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_." The Marauder raced off.

The Captain turned back. "What do you suspect?"

"I don't know. A final bastion of the Harmony before they died out?" Ikharos shook his head. "But the floor and doors are of human design. It's simple and... Xiān?"

"Looks Glimmer-made," she told him. "The dimensions are perfect. The steel is only that, pure steel. Nothing but Glimmer can do that." She squinted at the datapad. "Looks like this thing was left behind long ago. As in beginning of life on Kepler long ago.."

"So..."

"I don't know. Time's slower here. My calendar's all jumbled up."

Kalaker returned, with Formora in tow. The elf approached them slowly, lookin all around the chamber with thinly-veiled awe. "This is dwarven," she announced as soon as she reached them, drinking in the sight like a bottle of the Reef's finest wine.

Ikharos groaned. He missed the wine.

Kiphoris handed her the datapad. "Can you read it?" He asked.

She only took a moment before saying, "Yes."

"It is of the magic language?"

"No, it's... it's in Dwarvish." She turned the tablet around. "And it's written in the _Hruthmundvik_ style."

"And that is?"

"An ancient form of the runic alphabet used by the dwarves. It's oafish and difficult, but not too different to their current methods. Yes I can read it."

"Mind translating?" Xiān asked.

Formora nodded, clearly enraptured. Her finger followed the first line. " _Âz knurl deimi lanok_. Beware, the rock changes. _Barzul Volvrencarach_. Curse the..." Formora frowned, and she glanced at Ikharos. "Curse the slayers of the eternal-war. Sheilven werg. Disgusting cowards. _Volhort vren_. Every moment is war. _Menthiv, jok ingh otho oen korda il Grimstborith, Farthen Dûr rak Knurlan, il gor Jurgen_ _._ Sons, bring your faith and your hammers to the clan chief, father of dwarves, at the dragon mountain. _Qarzûl menotho tronj_. Cursed faithless giants. _Etsil carkna bragha_. Stop the great danger. _Akh Guntéraz dorzâda._ For Guntera's adoration. And... that's where it ends."

"Who's Guntera?" Ikharos asked.

"The king of the dwarven gods." Formora looked back to the datapad. "But... Guntera doesn't exist."

"Maybe it was Scipio they wanted to help," Xiān supplied. "Or Nezarec, if they were tricked."

Ikharos shook his head. "Not Nezarec. The warning of a great danger - that sounds like what Nezarec and his servants will bring. Where are the dwarves now?"

"Within the Beor Mountains, far to the south," Formora told him. "But dragon mountain... they mean Du Fells Nángoröth."

"Where now?" Xiān snorted. "Say it again."

The elf rolled her eyes. "Du Fells Nángoröth. The Blasted Mountains. It was an old dragon nesting site!" She continued excitedly. "Though they had no settlements, it was as much their capital as any place ought to be. The wild dragons considered it their home. It's in the centre of the Hadarac desert."

"Why nest there in the middle of the desert? That can't be good."

"The Hadarac wasn't always desert. It used to be a vast grassland, where the dwarves originally lived. When it began to turn bad, the dwarves left. And the dragons, their long-time rivals for that very land, claimed it all for themselves."

"Faithless giants..." Ikharos murmured thoughtfully. "Are the dwarves called that because they're short?"

Formora nodded. "They are."

"Then giants could just mean humans. Or Harmony, or Frames, or anything taller. Dragons?"

"No. Jurgen means dragons. While dragons are large, they don't call them giants. Apparently, the dwarven gods went to war with the giants in a conflict their priests call the Supernatural War."

Xiān laughed. "Did they fight chupacabras and yeti? Werewolves, vampires, ghosts? I do love ghost stories."

Formora exhaled slowly. "No. Just giants, they said. And later the dwarves fought dragons, when both came into being. According to the Quan, of course. The Quan are the dwarven clan of priests, responsible for upholding their faith."

"What does this tell us?" Kiphoris clicked his mandibles impatiently. "Could our kin have traveled to these mountains?"

"I... It's a hard and long journey on foot. Two months from Gil'ead on foot," Formora said. "But if the dragon's large enough, then it could fly there in less, even with people riding it."

Ikharos closed his eyes. If there was anything he truly hated about this mission, it was this. The knowledge of a rogue Ahamkara freely roaming the world didn't sit well with him, and then knowing Tellesa was with it... "Damn lizards," he glowered. "I was done with dragons a century ago, and I'm more than done with them now." He took a deep breath and tried his best to ignore Formora's sudden scathing look. "Seems a bit of a shot in the dark."

It was Kiphoris who replied. "If they flee the human empire, then where _could_ they go?"

Xiān helpfully laid out a holographic map of Alagaësia. Formora gestured first to the sprawling forest to the north. "My people live here, and while they would welcome a Rider free of Galbatorix's control, being led to such an understanding would take time and charm. Besides, the cowards hide themselves deep within Du Weldenvarden, and traps litter the way to their cities. It would be a gamble, and as the location of the elven cities is doubtless unknown to the Rider, the forest would not be their destination. Humans think it cursed, and rightfully so. Magic permeates everything there, making it a dangerous place to the unprepared."

"What of other places?"

"The independent kingdom of Surda, maybe, but that's an even longer distance than Du Fells Nángoröth is from Gil'ead. And the king has spies in Surda. It wouldn't be safe."

"Across the desert?" Ikharos inquired.

Formora quickly shook her head. "That distance is too much for a dragon to take on in one flight. They would need to rest and drink, and water is in precious little supply in the Hadarac desert. There _is_ an oasis by the Blasted Mountains, but that isn't common knowledge, and it's hidden."

"What about sneaking back into the empire?"

Kiphoris growled. "No. Mine-scouts would consider it a hostile territory. They would steer clear at all costs."

"A pity we can't raise them up on comms." Ikharos spared one last look around the chamber. "This has been a waste of time."

"Agreed. We should continue the search elsewhere."

"The problem is where." He pointed to the mountain range past the desert. "What about this place?"

"The Beors," Formora said. "An untamed wilderness, and again dangerous for the unprepared. It lacks the magic of Du Weldenvarden, but the colossal beasts that roam the place make up for it. It's all icy mountain peaks and forested valleys."

Ikharos nodded. "Sounds like a paradise. All those mountains - perfect place to hide. But it's too far." His finger traced from Marna Mountain around the Isentar lake, treading close to Du Weldenvarden, and into the empire. "I've been here. It's mostly uninhabited, and what settlements there are are only villages and hamlets. If they could get past that, they could reach the Spine. Any mountain range will do, and this is closer than the Beors."

Neither Formora or Kiphoris opposed or argued it, and so they were decided. They checked the room over once more, then left.

Outside a maelstrom was building. The storm had caught up, and it was furious. They raced to the Skiff, and the moment all were aboard, the ship ripped away. The winds rocked them to and fro, and Ikharos knew they were teetering on the edge. He'd never seen a storm act like this. Not naturally.

He rejoined Calzan in the cockpit. The Vandal pointed out the viewport. "Look!"

Ikharos did look. He stared at the series of lightning bolts striking through the air before the hovering Skiff, a boundary of electricity that did not cease. "This is intentional," he realized. There was no way a natural storm would do that.

Kiphoris roared. "Shades?!" He had to shout over the deafening thunder.

"No! They aren't this powerful!"

"Nezarec?!"

"I... I don't know!"

Again and again the lightning struck, keeping them from leaving. It curved about, cordoning off the north and west in a conspicuous manner. The boundary closed in; Calzan turned the ship around and pressed down on the thrusters. The lightning gave chase.

"They herd us!" Calzan struggled to control the ship. The winds were tossing it above, and the lightning strikes running only just behind them. The ship's lights shuttered as a strike caught them dead centre and the Skiff jittered in air.

Ikharos exchanged a panicked look with Kiphoris. "I can't fight this!"

Kiphoris closed his inner eyes. "Fly, Calzan!"

"I'm trying!"

The power returned moments later. The Skiff tore ahead at full burn, a thin line of plasma trailing behind like wounds in the very air, headed in the opposite direction of the hurricane. They would have been visible to anyone in the area, especially other Fallen vessels, but the time for stealth was long past. Kiphoris disappeared to help his crew harness down a loose crate in the hold. The entire vessel shook dangerously, and at one point Ikharos thought he could feel the ship coming undone around him.

* * *

They got out ahead of it for a second time, but the storm was relentless, and it chased them for miles and miles. It was an ugly blue-purple bruise in the morning light. Calzan had eased off the throttle when they were in the clear, but nerves were still up and no one was under the presumption that they were safe.

Ikharos joined Formora, Kiphoris, and a couple of other Fallen in the command deck. They needed a plan, if for nothing else than to reassure themselves that they knew what they were doing.

"We need to find cover," Kalaker, one of the Marauders, said. "Our Skiff is damaged. It will not survive another attempt to escape. We must bring it to shelter." Ikharos agreed wholeheartedly. It was the sensible thing to do. But Kiphoris shook his head.

"No. This storm is not natural. It is directed. Something is using it on us. They may not have just a storm at their disposal, and I refuse to die cowering in a burrow."

"We could travel on foot," Formora offered, speaking through Xiān.

"And be battered against rocks? No thanks," Ikharos argued. "I'm of the same mind as Kalaker. We need to get out of the way. Lose it, somehow. Maybe wait until the storm expends itself. If whatever behind the storm comes after us, well..." He shrugged. "If it comes to a fight, we can get in touch with Tarrhis and request aid."

Javek stepped forward, his eyes nervously darting from person to person. "We, ah, cannot contact Tarrhis."

Kiphoris twirled about. "What?!"

The Splicer cringed away from the seething Wolf. "We have ventured into the jamming field, mine-Captain. Whatever quietens Alkris and Paltis now hides us. And... I believe it encompasses the entire desert."

Ikharos clenched his hands into fists. "There's something in the desert, and it's not a friend. We've ventured onto its turf."

Melkis, a Vandal shockshooter, nodded. "It chases us deeper into the desert, to corner us like a predator would. Perhaps it means to herd us to its maw with limbs of lightning?"

The Warlock pointed at him. "That's exactly it. It's trying to trap us."

"We cannot flee," Kiphoris argued. "The storm pens us in. I say we either let the storm herd us in... or we find those responsible and face them directly."

"If something is powerful enough to control a storm," Formora began, "Then what hope do we have of challenging it?"

Everyone looked at Ikharos.

"Here's an idea," he said flatly. "Why don't I fight it?"

Kiphoris clicked his mandibles. "Then it's settled. We will-"

"Bastards."

"-find the creature behind the storm and slay it."

"But _where_?" Formora questioned. "The Hadarac is a barren, lifeless place. There's nowhere to-"

Xiān perked up. "Du Fells Nan-whatsit. The Blasted Mountains."

"Du Fells Nángoröth," Formora corrected with a groan.

"Yeah, that. If the dragons are gone, then something might have moved in. You know, ecology."

Ikharos sighed. "You can't just say ecology. That's not how it works."

"Then you explain it, genius."

"Fine. If an apex predator at the top of the food chain is rendered extinct, odds are another animal will rise to the occasion and take their place. That's one of the driving factors behind evolution: to better fit an ecological niche. Yeah, sure, you could say that's the case, but we don't know what this being is. For all we know it could just be someone playing around with terraforming equipment."

Xiān's eye flashed. "Nerd."

Ikharos just ignored her. "There's nothing else out here. The Blasted Mountains are the only cover for a hundred miles in any direction. Mountains really are the best place to hide. Or hold." He looked off into space. "I knew a few Warlords who used to do just that. I think it had something to do with pride..."

Formora frowned. "What about Durza?"

"No," Kiphoris shook his head. "We cannot reach them as it is, even if we knew their true locations. We _must_ address that which threatens to destroy us. After it is done, we may resume the hunt unhindered. Agreed?"

They all nodded, some more reluctant than others. Ikharos was in the reluctant camp.

* * *

Just as they'd anticipated, the storm continued after them with frightening speed. It spread out across the horizon behind them, a broiling wave of rain and lightning sweeping over the desert. Calzan made a point of utterly refusing to try and skirt around it.

"I'm not going near that," he announced. "We would be tossed around like a plaything. Like a half-starved Dreg in the hands of an Uluru Colossus."

Ikharos grimaced. He'd experienced something akin to that before. "Could we outrun it again?"

"Perhaps, but our ship is damaged. I do not like it being damaged. I must see what is wrong." Calzan pointed to a red light above that continuously flicked on and off. "And that worries me."

"What does it mean?"

"It means we are nearly out of power. We are running on auxiliary engines. If we are struck again, we will fall out of the air like a tossed stone."

"So we've got to land, no matter what," Ikharos surmised.

" _Eia_."

"Is there any way to fix it?"

"I will have to replace wires and repair main engines, then find a source of energy. We may have to burn some ether."

That wasn't ideal, and Ikharos knew it. While they had a Servitor with them, it was small and unlikely to produce enough ether. They needed their rations to keep their size, or they would grow weaker with hunger, but they still needed the ability to fly. It was a dilemma Ikharos was glad he didn't have to navigate. He'd leave that to the Wolf.

Du Fells Nángoröth loomed ahead like jagged fangs jutting from the gums of the earth. The range appeared like a terrible crown, with a ring of jagged mountains surrounding a single abnormally tall peak. It was a dirty tan-brown colour, only slightly darker than the surrounding desert, and almost lifeless. What plants there were congregated around the oasis near the bottom, situated between two mountains. It was partially covered by an overhang, and would have been practically invisible from the ground. Trees sprouted up around it, and Ikharos thought he could see the flutter of movement from the Skiff. An eagle soared above the little pocket of life and screeched unhappily at the ship.

"Calm here," he noted.

" _Eia_ ," Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "I do not like it. Calzan, bring us down. Slowly."

"Yes, _Kiphoris pak Drakkir_. By the water?"

Kiphoris looked at Ikharos, who gave a half-shrug: why not? "Do so. I'm sure the humans would like to replenish their provisions."

If it was meant as a barb it didn't work, because Ikharos realized just how parched his throat was. "That would be welcome."

The Skiff, still smoking, drifted down on a weak breeze and dipped down onto the cracked ground without incident. Once more, Ikharos was at the forefront of those who burst out with weapons raised. It was only right, he supposed. If he took a bullet that would otherwise snuff out someone else's life, he'd survive where the others wouldn't.

The oasis was clear, for the most part. They'd landed amidst the raised rocks that hid the little paradise from anything on ground level. The watering hole was sizable, certainly enough to supply the isolated environment, and it was fed by steep rivers running down the adjacent mountains. Palm trees dotted the shores, and other forms of vegetation took advantage of the shade they brought. Birds were in plenty, and by the water's edge Ikharos made out a herd of hardy goats alternating between having a drink or staring at the newcomers.

"That's odd," he muttered. "Why would-"

A horse whinnied from somewhere nearby. Ikharos raised his Lumina and only just managed to shout, "Don't fire!" before a group of horseriders galloped out of hiding and surrounded them, shouting and yipping. Most of them bore spears, and it was those who boxed the intruders in against the Skiff. He was thankful that the Fallen listened to him and didn't shoot anyone down.

One of them, armed with a curved sword, stared unyieldingly at Ikharos. He, like his fellows, wore a cloth covering around his head so that only his eyes peered out, and his clothes were light and covered with sand. He wore little in terms of armour, only light riding clothes aside from a golden breastplate, and his arms shook with gaudy jewellery. Embossed discs of creamy gold stretched the lobes of his ears, golden necklaces dangled from his neck, and a resplendent crown rested over his covered head, but despite it all, he looked a warrior. His shoulders were broad and his dark brown eyes were almond-shaped, narrowed to glare at the Warlock.

The horsemen looked nervous, glancing between the growling Eliksni and the Skiff behind them. They paid close attention to Kiphoris in particular. The Captain stood at height with them, despite sitting atop horses. Kiphoris didn't make a sound. He only clutched his pistols tightly and eyed the strangers with an indecipherable expression.

"Wait!" Ikharos shouted in English, holding out an empty hand. He ignored the spears and stepped out between the Scars and the horsemen. "We don't want a fight!"

The leader of the desert people pointed at Ikharos with his blade. "You are trespassing," he barked angrily.

"We didn't know this place was inhabited!"

"These lands belong to the Inapashunna Tribe. And you are trespassing."

Ikharos unclasped his helmet and flung it aside. He wanted them to see he was human. He hoped it would reassure them. "We don't mean any harm. We only wanted to-"

A flash of movement was the only warning he had of the arrow, and he deftly caught it out of the air. The horsemen quietened, eyes wide with awe, and pride flared up within him. He met the leader's gaze with a victorious look on his face.

The second arrow, however, caught him under the chin.

**000**

The moment Ikharos fell to the ground, clearly dead, was the moment Kiphoris let loose a roar. Some of the humans' beasts panicked and bucked, and he rushed forward. He pounced the lead rider and his horse, and grunted as the human's sword cracked against his star-salvage pauldron. He forced the terrified, fighting animal down to the ground, ignoring its piercing shrieks. It hit him hard with its flailing hooves, so with a savage slash he tore out its throat with his claws. Then he grasped the rider by his tunic and dragged him away from the dying creature.

With a third arm he grasped the human's sword and tossed it aside. Kiphoris retreated just as quickly, now holding his bloodied claws against the struggling human's throat.

When he saw his crew mad to follow his example, he snarled at them. "No! Stay!"

They obeyed, hesitantly. His loyal Marauders snarled and hissed at the humans, claws splayed and shock blades activated. Behind him, others disembarked readied for war, joining their Captain in his standoff.

The human in his grip tried to break free and only managed to irritate Kiphoris. "Stop, or I will kill you!" He seethed. The human's struggles lessened for a brief moment, but they resumed before long. Kiphoris could respect that. Bravery before certain death was something to be commended.

The other humans cried out in alarm, but they did exactly what he wanted: they kept their distance, afraid for their leader who yet remained in the grasp of the Captain. They brandished their spears and shouted in a language he didn't understand. Kiphoris wasn't impressed. They were not unstoppable Risen, or coordinated Corsairs. These humans did not pose a threat. But they _were_ annoying. He found their archers situated on the neighbouring rocks, wearing cloaks the same colour as their surroundings. Their weapons were fitted and strung, but much like their mounted brethren they refrained from endangering the life of their leader.

At long last, the horse he'd wounded finally stilled and died. The other beasts shied away from the scent of blood, the whites of their eyes showing, scarcely under the control of their humans.

Then what he expected to happen finally happened. Ikharos' Ghost, Xiān, finally appeared and hovered above his corpse. The little machine tutted and, after a moment, opened up its shell to envelop the dead man in its warmth. With a cough, Ikharos sat up and rubbed his neck. The man in Kiphoris' grip, as well as his underlings, froze and went deathly quiet. Even Kiphoris' own crew were struck silent. He remembered it was the first time they'd seen the Guardian cheat death.

The Warlock picked himself up and grabbed his hand cannon. He looked around and gave each of the attackers a stern, father-strong look. "There was no need for that," the Guardian muttered.

Kiphoris' captive went limp. " _Unulunka Mulik_!" He gasped.

"Speak sense," Kiphoris ordered.

" _Unulunka Mulik_!" The other humans took up the cry. They dismounted and dropped their weapons. Some of their beasts took the chance to run off, but none of the humans appeared to notice. They brought their hands together in prayer and, as one, fell down into kneeling positions. Before long they were joined by the archers, who did the exact same thing.

Ikharos was left baffled. Humans were always so very expressive. "Uh..."

"Please," the lead human begged. Kiphoris looked up and made a mental prayer to the Great Machine, and let his captive go. Predictably, he too fell to his knees.

Somewhere else, an animal let out an obscenely hoarse scream that picked away at Kiphoris' patience. He made a mental note to send a Marauder hunting later. He was hungry, and the thought of bloody flesh made his mouth water.

"What do we do, mine-Captain?" Kalaker asked, clearly perplexed

Kiphoris huffed. "Let us see what _Ikha Riis_ thinks. They are his people; their fate is his responsibility."

The lead rider shuffled forwards on his knees. "You are _Unulunka Mulik_!"

"I'm what now?" Ikharos turned on him, confusion mixing with a scarcely-restrained fury.

"Blessed of Unulunka, the Old One!" The lead warrior lowered his gaze. "It is my mistake that you were brought to harm. The Inapashunna never meant to commit heresy. I am sorry, Unulunka Mulik."

Ikharos crouched down. "What's your name?"

"I am Sagabato-no Inapashunna Fadawar, chief of the Inapashunna," the human answered proudly. "It is an honour, _Unulunka Mulik_! A true honour!"

* * *

Humans were strange, strange creatures. No sooner had the Inapashunna chieftain introduced himself than they invited Ikharos, and his 'tamed demons', to join them for a feast in their village. Kiphoris wanted to say no. Ikharos wanted to say no.

But Fomora said yes, so they accepted.

"They're one of the Wandering Tribes of the Hadarac," the elf explained. "If there is anything here of note, they would know about it."

"We don't have time to dally," Ikharos argued. Kiphoris agreed wholeheartedly.

"This may save us time. Whatever we're looking for, we might not find it without their help." Her logic made a strange sort of sense. They hadn't seen anything unusual from the air, but Kiphoris doubted that being on the ground would change that. The mountains were large and steep, and the oasis was a prime example of how well-hidden such places could be.

Ikharos proceeded to sigh and call ahead. "Fadawar!"

"Yes, _Unulunka Mulik_?" The chieftain asked, turning about. He was forced to hike ahead of them because Kiphoris had killed his horse. The Captain found a petty satisfaction seeing the human brought low. He didn't like Fadawar. The man was a warrior, true, but his distaste for the Scars was obvious.

The feeling was mutual. Kiphoris didn't think very highly of the Inapashunna warriors. They were easily broken, easily frightened, and their prowess was questionable. By the Great Machine, he missed the Corsairs of the Reef. It had always been a fascinating experience to see them at work. He'd picked up a few things from them, and it was likely that training that had allowed him to survive thus far.

They'd left Calzan and the rest with the Skiff. The damage from the storm had been just as bad as they feared. A terrible scorch mark marred the side of it, exposing the fried internal workings. The ship wasn't flight-ready, and Calzan, ever the little Baron, had made clear that they couldn't move until it was fixed.

"I will not die because I saw fit to fly a dying Skiff," the pilot had announced. He turned to those who were to remain and shouted, "Javek, come here and help!"

Kiphoris left the pilot with a couple of soldiers and Splicers while he and the others followed the humans to their home.

The Inapashunna village was just as concealed as the oasis. Hidden behind a rising slope, the village of adobe buildings was situated in a lull between the mountains. It blended in well with the environment, further helping to conceal it. The village was largeish, housing a few hundred, and many of them gathered to meet the returning warriors and beloved animals. The sight of him and the Scars under his command raised panicked cries, but Fadawar shouted a number of things in that unfamiliar language of his, and the villagers nervously allowed the Eliksni to enter the settlement.

Before the hike to their home, the riders had stopped to gather their other domesticated beasts, the things Formora called 'goats', and herd the animals before them. They stank unpleasantly, and Kiphoris was stumped as to why the humans would bother keeping them. He hoped they kept other animals. He hungered, and not just for ether. Maybe he could find an excuse to double back and feed from the Fadawar's steed. That animal had been much cleaner in comparison, and there was more than enough flesh on its bones to sate him.

After a brief discussion between Fadawar and an elderly man dressed in the most ridiculous garb Kiphoris had ever seen - colourful clothing adorned with bright fanciful feathers and unusual patterns painted across his face, with a ring in his nose for good measure. The old human - who was undoubtedly a fraction of Kiphoris' age - pointed furiously at him.

Then Fadawar gestured to Ikharos and said, " _Unulunka Mulik_!"

That seemed to be the answer to every issue these people faced - point at Ikharos and chant those odd words. Kiphoris wondered if doing it might give him what he wanted: an end to these terrible wars, safe sanctuary for his people, and a duel with the Light-Thief.

Not long after the argument was settled, long, low-legged tables were dragged out into the middle of the village. Pillows were placed around, and they were invited to sit down. The Inapashunna sat cross-legged before the short tables, and Kiphoris struggled to do the same. Eliksni were not made for such things.

A mere minute later food was carried out on silver platters, dried meats covered in spices, fresh fruit, and even cheese, a product the Inapashunna cultivated from the goats. Kiphoris recognized some of the meals, and others were similar to those he'd partaken in the Reef, so he confidently grabbed four handfuls of portions and feasted. His qualms about wasting time disappeared as he gorged himself. He could feel the frightened and inquisitive stares of the humans, but he refused to let that bother him. This was food, and it had been far too long since he had anything but sweet ether to subsist on. His warriors were of the same mind, reassured after seeing their Captain fearlessly ingest the foreign foods.

At one point the village elder stood and looked at Kiphoris. "What are you?" He asked in halting English.

He swallowed the food in his mouth and answered with, "We are-"

"They are the Eliksni, agents of Gokukara, the Mantis. They have been sent to help Unulunka's Blessed on his journey," Formora quickly interjected. The elf smiled pleasantly in a way that didn't reach her eyes, and she shot Kiphoris a quick look that told him to stay quiet. Bemused, he shut his mouth and turned his attention back to the food. There was a liquid they called fermented milk that was supposed to act as a replacement for wine, but it was disgusting. Kiphoris kept to his flask of ether, which remained cool in the too-warm air. It tasted much more pleasant.

Fear turned to awe, but Kiphoris wasn't so sure he liked what he heard.

"And you?" The elder, the village priest, asked of the elf.

Formora blinked. "I am a _katuro_. I intend to assist _Unulunka Mulik_."

"Yes! This is good news, is it not? _Unulunka Mulik_ has arrived at last," the old man muttered, a satisfied grin stretching his cracked lips. He looked directly at Ikharos. "Do you intend to scale the mountain?"

"Uh..."

"And slay the Eye of the Storm?"

"Oh, yeah, that. I'll fight the, uh... Eye of the Storm." Ikharos nodded. He glanced at Kiphoris, and the Captain understood. So it was here.

"These people know a way to the storm-entity," Kiphoris muttered in Eliksni. His Marauders gestured to him that they heard and were ready.

"Where do I go?" Ikharos pressed.

Fadawar lifted his arm towards the rear of the village. "The path there leads up the Dragon Mountain. I warn you, it is treacherous. Peril waits at every turn."

"So pretty much the everyday norm," Ikharos muttered. He raised his voice. "Do you mind if we go now? Storm's coming, and we'd like to kill it as quick as we can."

"O-of course!" Fadawar quickly stood. He bowed to Ikharos. "Again, I must express my utmost apologies. I am sorrowful that our meeting came first to violence."

"And... I'm sorry about your horse," Ikharos replied awkwardly. He took a breath. "I think we'll set out immediately."

"Melkis, Vradaks, Zorar, return to the Skiff and keep watch. Update Calzan on our plan," Kiphoris ordered of the Vandals. They saluted and raced off back down the mountain, leaving him with his Marauders. With a final look about the place, he huffed and marched away from the feast. The hundreds in attendance cheered for Ikharos as they left.

When they reached the beaten mountain trail and left all the Inapashunna behind, he twirled about and settled Formora with a stony gaze. "What are you doing?"

She checked that they hadn't been followed. "They believe Ikharos to be a champion of one of their gods. How they came to that conclusion, I have no idea."

"Neither do I," the Guardian supplied. "But yeah, what _were_ you doing?"

"Helping our case. The Wandering Tribes do not receive outsiders well. Under Galbatorix's rule, slavers have often made the tribes their primary targets. They are a hardy people, and they have survived because they remain suspicious of everyone not their own."

"I'm _not_ their own," Ikharos pointed out. "They asked me out to dinner because I came back from an arrow to the throat."

"Most people aren't so lucky. Can you really blame them? I once thought you to be a god."

"What changed your mind?"

Formora exhaled fitfully. "I found out how bullheaded you are."

Kiphoris couldn't help himself: he laughed.

* * *

The mountain trail was not quite as perilous as Fadawar made it out to be. Perhaps the chieftain was speaking from the viewpoint of a clawless human, but Kiphoris wasn't so sure. Ikharos and Formora kept pace with him and his Marauders. They were well-balanced, and did not tire easily. Even when they came to a series of narrow passages along the edge of a cliff, they simply worked in tandem with one another to ensure neither fell.

It wasn't even difficult for Kiphoris. If anything was too steep, he simply dug in with his claws and climbed. The rock was stable, the wind hardly strong enough to ruffle the hair on the humans' heads, and the only problem he found was the dust tossed into his eyes. For that he cut a thin cloth from a bandage in one of his medical kits and tied it around his head to cover his eyes. His sight was impeded, but better than no eyes at all.

His Marauders had no such issue. Their helmets covered their entire heads, unlike his, and he envied them. He promised himself to speak to Javek about that when they returned. A simple visor would do.

For miles and miles they climbed, unrelenting and unpunished. The only danger to sprout came in the form of a mountain cat, and that beast was sent skittering away with a growl. Eventually the path leveled out, and much like what they'd seen on Marna, they found a relic of a bygone time.

Two colossal gates stood built into the rock, wide enough that if opened three Skiffs could fly in side by side. Glyphs and markings that must have been Dwarvish lined the steel surface.

"This is the place," Kalaker said. He primed his shock rifle.

"This is the place," Ikharos agreed. He drew his cannon.

Kiphoris pulled shock pistols from his bandolier, a weapon in each of his four hands. "How do we get inside?"

The gates rumbled and dragged back on rusty hinges. A dull boom flew across the clearing when they fully opened.

"That answers that!" Eldrin chuckled nervously. "Do we enter, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_?"

"We enter," Kiphoris told him. "Be prepared. They expect us."

He led the way, and the others dutifully followed. Not one faltered, not even the humans, and that brought him a sensation of uncertain pride. The chamber beyond was larger than the one at Marna, but Kiphoris expected more. All there was was a large, rust-bitten elevator connected to ancient chains. It was more primitive than what he expected of something from a human Golden Age installation. He gingerly put his weight onto the elevator and, though it swayed, it held.

"Join me if you must, but be careful," he told the rest. They followed him on. Ikharos pressed the downwards-arrow button on a pedestal to the side. With a creaky groan and a terrifying shudder, the elevator began to crawl down into the depths of the mountain. The machine had no walls, only iron bars to hold onto, and the floor was again bare steel. Basic machinery.

Ikharos made a startled gasp. "Something's here," he said in a hushed voice. "I can feel it."

"Shade?"

"No. Something else. Not Dark. But not Light."

The elevator shaft was illuminated solely by dying lightbulbs fixed to rough stone the daylight filtering through from above died away, darkness began to settle over them. This was not the gloom of night-darkness, but an abyss-darkness, total in its obscurity. There were no stars, no moons, no comets, nothing to show them the way. The air was musty and damp, and smelled of bitter ozone. Kiphoris looked about; he half-expected to be set upon by a pack of hungry Thralls, but no living thing presented itself. They were alone, and yet he knew they were not. He had no Light, but he could feel a presence nearby, watching him. Studying him. Testing him.

The very mountain suddenly quaked around them, and a deepset groan echoed up from below. A sharp crack rebounded through the elevator shaft from above. Metal struck metal.

"Psekisk!" Kiphoris snarled. He grabbed the nearest person he could feasibly reach, which happened to be Formora, and leapt for the side of the elevator shaft. He didn't even have enough time to warn the others before the chain holding them snapped and the elevator plummeted. It fell fast, and was subsequently swallowed by the all-encompassing darkness. He didn't hear a crash.

Kiphoris looked about. Only Eldrin made the jump. And Formora, though she'd been dragged off by her arm. She grimaced as his grip pulled the joint painfully, and Kiphoris swung her over to a steady handhold.

"Are you injured?" He asked.

She hissed through gritted teeth. "I'll live." She looked over her shoulder. "But... they fell..."

"They did." He turned to Eldrin. "Are you wounded?"

"No, mine-Captain!" The Marauder breathed heavily. "What... the chain snapped!"

"No," Kiphoris said. His gaze turned upwards. "Something snapped the chain."

"What of the others?" The Marauder grasped for his radio. "Kalaker? Kalaker! Come in! Riilix? Revlis?"

"It won't work, Eldrin," the Captain snapped, his voice harsh. "They've fallen into the trap."

"What of us?"

Kiphoris closed his eyes. He thought for a moment. "We cannot go up, or we will fall prey to whatever waits above. We must descend. And find our brethren, alive or dead." He swiveled back around to Formora. "We must climb down. Can you do so?"

"I think so, yes."

"What of your arm?"

Formora sent him an irritated look. "It won't bother me."

"It doesn't appear that way to me."

"I don't care."

He liked her fire. "Bravery is good, but recklessness is not. If you think you may falter, tell us."

She grumbled. Then asked, "Do you think they're still alive?"

Kiphoris didn't want to think about that. "I do not know." He looked down into the waiting darkness. "I wager we will find out soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Big thanks to Nomad Blue for edits. He's been instrumental in criticism for this venture.
> 
> I will leave a bit of a disclaimer here. The next chapter will be darker than what I usually do.


	32. The Cave

WHICH ONE  
 _KILL THEM ALL_  
NO WE NEED TO KNOW  
 _WE NEED ONE KILL THE OTHERS_  
how do we test them all  
Ithinkweshouldletthemlivefornowifoneisrightthenwecannotriskemnity  
WHAT IF NONE ARE RIGHT  
 _KILL THEM_  
kill them  
Killthem  
WE MUST FIND ONE WE MUST WATCH WE MUST TEST THEM ALL  
 _THE WARDEN/PREDATOR/WEAPON WILL SUFFICE IT IS A POOR TEST BUT WE MUST BE RID OF IT_  
IT HUNGERS IT IS BLUE IT WILL EAT

* * *

TYPE: LIVE SURVEILLANCE FEED [CONTINGENCY RECORD]  
PARTIES: Five [5]. One [1] Risen, Class Warlock, designate Ikharos Torstil [it[deceased]; One [1] Eliksni, Rank Marauder, designate Kalaker the Courier [kc]; One [1] Eliksni, Rank Marauder, designate Riilix Vehlk the Rainmaker [rvr]; One [1] Eliksni, Rank Marauder, designate Revlis the (Untitled) [ru[deceased]; One[1] Ghost, designate Xiān [x]  
ASSOCIATIONS: Light; House of Scars; Whirlwind; Ahamkara  
/AUDIO PRESERVED/  
/TRANSCRIPT FOLLOWS…/  
[kc:01] (indecipherable growl)... _psesiskars_! Is anyone alive?  
[rvr:01] Kalaker? Thank the Great Machine, I thought I was alone!  
[kc:02] What of the others?  
[rvr:02] Revlis and _Ikha Riis_ are dead. The human's Servitor is with us.  
[x:01] Just give me a second... there!  
[it:01] We fell.  
[x:02] Yeah. We might need some light.  
[it.02] On it. There we go.  
[rvr:03] You live. You truly are deathless.  
[it:03] That's me. What's our situation?  
[kc:03] Revlis is gone. Eldrin, Kiphoris, and Formora must be above. I think they escaped. My leg is broken, and there is no path up. If we seek to rejoin them, we will have to climb.  
[rvr:04] You won't make it!  
[kc:04] I know. Leave me with weapons, and I will fight whatever comes.  
[it:04] Not a chance. We're not climbing out. We continue onwards.  
[kc:05] (Laughter) _Eia_ , that is better. Even if it kills me, I will see this done. I am with you, Kirzen. Or I would be but for my leg.  
[it:05] Psekisk. Let me see that... How about now?  
[kc:06] I am... well. Thank you.  
[rvr:05] I see something ahead! A light!  
[it:06] Stay on your guard.

**000**

Pain and darkness permeated everything, but at this point it was an everyday occurrence. The only thing to light their way was the orb of Solar he cupped in one hand. The distant light threw no rays their way, illuminating nothing of what lay ahead. They were grasping in the dark, and he didn't like that one bit.

"Watch your backs," he murmured. The only sound his companions made was that of soft footfalls accentuated by the clack of claw on stone.

What was worse that being plunged into such gloom was that he knew they were being watched. Not only had the storm drawn them into the trap, but they'd entered willingly, spurred on by fury borne of a near-death experience. And now here they were, moving down a wide tunnel that hadn't been touched for thousands of years, where his fire threw too-large shadows and failed to reassure him in any way.

It wasn't Dark in the tunnel, but that didn't matter. Caves were a Guardian's worst nightmare, and not just for the association with Hive. It wouldn't take much to cause a cave-in, and the thought of being crushed to death over and over again for all eternity plagued him for every step he took.

"The light is gone," Kalaker said suddenly. And so it was. The glow had disappeared.

Ikharos' fingers tightened around his cannon. "Psekisk."

"It's warm," Riilix commented. Ikharos only just noticed it. It _was_ warm. Warmer than it should have been, and that heat wasn't coming from his Solar Light. It came from the ground below their feet. And it was heating up.

"We need to move."

"Then we move," Kalaker announced.

IKharos led the way, fiery hand held up and cannon pointed forward. He expected that whatever was drawing them in would attack soon. He was positive he'd feel the sharp bite of a bullet at any moment, and there was nothing he could do.

Riilix stopped. "I smell something."

"Ozone," Ikharos nodded. The scent wafted through his helmet's filters. It was like a Stormcaller had already stormed through the place.

"No. Brimstone." Riilix perked up and swung around her shock rifle. The light from her eyes intensified as she widened them. "I cannot see anything."

Ikharos pointed with his palm of flames and let loose a burst, lighting up the tunnel behind them for a brief moment. It stretched onwards for miles and miles.

" _Xiān?_ " He began. " _How long has it been? Since we started walking?_ "

Her reply was slow and filled to the brim with sudden, and unusual, fatigue. " _I dunno... Chronometer says... ten minutes..._ "

"Oh, psekisk," Ikharos cursed.

Riilix turned around quickly. "What is it?" She questioned, voice tinged with an edge of panic.

"We might have taken a wrong... hold on." Ikharos lifted his cannon. His heart jumped as his mind just processed what he was seeing before him. Twelve bright blue eyes stared back. Ikharos pushed more Light into his hand, but instead of growing, it shrank and died away until they were doused in darkness. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't reignite his Light. He could feel it within him, he could feel it being pushed out into Solar, but no flames appeared. It was as if the fire was being stolen the moment he produced it.

"What's wrong?" Riilix asked.

"There's four of us."

One set of eyes bobbed as the owner backed away. "Revlis?"

**000**

Her arm complained with a pulse of aching pain, and she bit her tongue. Formora tasted blood. Nonetheless, she continued. Her fingers scrabbled for a hold in the rough stone. She'd taken to following the route Kiphoris had used, making use of the deep marks left in the wall by his claws, but the place was damp with old moisture and she almost fell more than once.

The mineshaft was eerily silent. Only the breathing and scratch of claws alerted her to the presence of her companions, though that was a comfort. This place was lifeless in a way no place should have been. Not even insects or worms. Nothing. It was a place of death, and she, a living being, had no right to enter. It was just like the Grey City, only that Nezarec's realm had an otherworldly beauty to it. Not this place, the depths of Du Fells Nángoröth. It was bare and hideous, exposed bone in the flesh of the world.

Formora wondered if this were the doing of the gods, of Nezarec and Scipio.

Her life had never been dull, but this was ridiculous. She'd found herself in too many life-and-death scenarios to count since meeting Ikharos, and each of them was more dangerous than the last. She had learned things about Alagaësia that she had no right to. Things she would have been better off forgetting, but that wasn't an option. Those things now threatened to put an end to all her plans - not that many of those had survived in any case thanks to the arrival of Ikharos and the Eliksni. The world had grown so much bigger, and her power was left nigh on useless compared to the new arrivals.

That said, she continued to climb down the mine at a steady rate willingly. Escape was nigh on impossible, but there was the chance she could slip free and make it to the Inapashunna village, and thus keep her life. But that wasn't in her nature. She didn't flee and leave others to fall. She was a Rider, even if her dragon was gone, and she wouldn't prove herself a cretin. If nothing else, she would show the world that.

One of her wards activated and she gasped. Kiphoris and Eldrin stopped immediately. The Captain looked up, his outer eyes narrowed (so a positive emotion), and asked, "What is wrong?"

"There's a poison in the air," she blurted. Kiphoris didn't react. Formora wracked her brain for the word Ikharos had used. "Radiation!"

"Psekisk!" The Captain's eyes widened, and he locked eyes with his subordinate. "Eldrin, _tas bar ka_! We are not protected!"

Formora hesitated for a split second. "I am! I can raise wards to guard against it!"

"Magic-wards?"

"Yes."

"Do they work?" Kiphoris pressed, his voice edged with a smidge of panic.

"They did in Vroengard. That's how I know there's poison here: my ward activated."

"Can it widen to encompass us all?"

"I can cast another ward over you both. I think."

Kiphoris snarled and looked aside. "Magic... What will it cost?"

"Nothing. These spells are cheap."

"Then cast them," the Eliksni ordered. "And be quick. We cannot pause for long. I will not leave mine-crew to fend for themselves."

Formora took a breath. She didn't have a grasp on what the Eliksni were like. For all she knew they could be immune to magic like the Ra'zac. Casting a ward on such creatures might kill her. She went ahead with it regardless; her grip on the stone was precarious, and all she wanted was to reach solid ground. " _Vardi theirr frá du eitrum unin du aera_ ," she said quietly. The drain on her strength was miniscule. Hardly noticeable. Not immune, then.

"Is it done?" Kiphoris called up.

"It's done," she replied.

She heard a grunt. "Then we move on. And trust in your magic."

**000**

Ikharos backed away, Riilix in tow. One of the remaining sets of eyes watched him as he went, and the other - whom he assumed to be Kalaker - stared at the new Eliksni.

"Revlis?" The Marauder asked. "Is that you?"

The eyes began to turn inch by inch away from Ikharos, marked by a cracking noise that sent shivers down his spine, and settled on Kalaker. Just below the eyes of the stranger, a glowing maw opened up. And blue fire flickered from within.

Ikharos fired. The thunderous roar of the Lumina bounced off the walls and echoed away in every direction. He hit the creature directly between its four dead eyes. All he did was give it a fifth. It didn't fall, didn't cry out, didn't die. It stood there, studying Kalaker with a hungry gaze.

"Revlis..." Riilix whispered.

"Not him," Ikharos muttered.

The thing that had once been Revlis didn't move, but the lights of its eyes - which Ikharos noted weren't the same shade of blue as normal Eliksni - began to grow wider and wider, the surface of its body coming apart at the seams.

Gunfire filled the air. Riilix let loose a series of Arc rounds and kept moving away. The moment the rounds hit a lengthy hiss emanated from within what had once been Revlis. Ikharos could account that whatever it was, it did not sound like an Eliksni. The eyes of the creature lowered as it doubled over, and a bluish glow pierced out from where the outer shell fell apart, pushing with its luminescent mass as if from an egg. It was shapeless, formless, a wriggling thing with coiling, whipping limbs that had far too many joints.

Kalaker gave a roar and there was a flash as he activated his sword. He lifted it up and struck down on what might have been the creature's head. It screamed so loud that Ikharos was left doubled over, desperately trying to switch off his helmet's audials. When it ended, and he could finally look up, the creature had already pounced on Kalaker. It pulsed wildly, and the Marauder disappeared beneath the growing spidery-thing, a crackling noise like static overcoming any cry Kalaker could have made.

Ikharos emptied all twelve of the Lumina's bullets into the thing, but they had little to no effect. Riilix's shock rifle had marginally better results, but it only served to attract the creature's attention. It stepped forwards on too many legs and screamed. Kalaker was gone by then. Ikharos couldn't see his eyes anymore.

Ikharos grasped at his Light, going straight for Arc, and held out his other arm, channeling it all out into a Chaos Reach. His arm flowed with energy, and he forced it out of his hand.

No beam. Not even a spark.

" _Run!_ " Xiān hoarsely shouted. She sounded so tired, so far away, but he didn't have time to dwell on any of it. Ikharos took one last look at the creature and bolted down the tunnel. He couldn't see a thing in the subterranean darkness, but that didn't stop him. He made it all of twenty paces before he glanced off a stone wall, but he rebounded and used it to figure out which direction to go.

The creature didn't chase after him, though that didn't comfort him in the slightest.

* * *

He ran and ran and ran, hand trailing against the damp stone wall. Xiān's exhausted encouragements grew fainter and fainter until he could hardly hear her. Adrenaline tore through him, and his heart beat so fast he thought it might burst altogether. The half-forgotten terror of mortality that he'd bourne during the Red War returned tenfold. This was worse. So much worse.

" _I'm not Lightless,_ " he rambled to Xiān, hoping she could still hear him. " _But my Light is being eaten_ _._ "

" _... creature... Arc..._ " Was all he could pick up. Her voice was little more than a hushed whisper. He didn't know what was happening, and it frightened him. After he'd spent so much time fighting and dying over and over again, little could worry him, but being alone and being powerless were chief among the fears to haunt him, and they were more prevalent now than ever.

Blue flashed before him and claws wrapped around his arm. In an instant he had his knife out, pressed against the Eliksni's throat, but he only just managed to refrain from driving it in. "Riilix?"

" _Eia,_ " she replied quietly. Her eyes looked past him and widened. "Quick!"

She dragged him away, and he stumbled to keep up. They reached a wall and she crawled into a gap in it. Ikharos hurriedly followed. To his disappointment it didn't lead anywhere, and stopped a few feet in, but at the very least the hole widened up.

"How did-?" He began, but she cut him off with a tiny hiss. He went dead silent and listened.

Clicking. He could hear clicking. Then a banshee's wail so intense that even his pounding heart was no louder than a whisper in comparison. Ikharos grimaced and tried his very best to endure as the din assailed his eardrums.

A glow lit up the space he'd crawled through. The wail ended, and it was back to clicking. The glow's intensity began to weaken, and Ikharos thought he heard a sound like cracking bone, and after that a gentle hum. The sounds receded as whatever it was began to move on. Before long it had left entirely, abandoning then to gloom and silence.

"It killed Kalaker," Riilix said.

"Yeah. It did."

"I saw... I saw it..."

Ikharos closed his eyes. "I saw it too." But he didn't want to think about it. Some things were better left forgotten.

"We need to turn back," Riilix decided. "We can't fight that."

Ikharos agreed. He held up his hand before his eyes, though he couldn't see it, and tried to summon an orb of Void. Not even that did anything. He felt the orb being formed, but it wasn't physically there. Something was taking it as soon as it left him, feeding from the Light-made-tangible. A Lighteater, like the Hive but lacking their telltale Dark and all the more frightening for it.

"We should find the others and get back to the Skiff," he whispered. "Let's go."

Riilix's eyes dipped as she nodded, and they crawled back out of the hiding place as quietly as they could. Once free, Ikharos unsheathed Orúm and looked about. He still couldn't see a damn thing. He hoped Riilix could. A deep, quivering exhale made his blood run cold. He twirled about, just in time to see a part of the darkness light up blue.

**000**

Finally, _finally_ , they reached the bottom. Formora leaned against the wall and gasped for breath. Even as tall as Du Fells Nángoröth was, this was surely far below even ground level. It certainly felt like it during the climb. She was left exhausted from the ordeal, and her arms shook with fatigue.

She opened her eyes and looked around. There was little light, and most of it was provided by the bright orange stick held by Kiphoris. It lit up the crumpled metal platform they'd used to enter the tunnels, which looked like a giant had stepped on it. There were no bodies, not that she could see. The air was filled with a hideous burnt stench, and it emanated from something at Kiphoris' feet. Eldrin crouched next to it and pulled out a device.

" _Eia,_ " the Marauder said. He shook his head and closed his inner eyes. " _Er Revlis._ "

"Psekisk!" Kiphoris emphasized the swear with a throaty growl.

Formora walked towards them, casting a nervous eye at their surroundings. There was no sign of the others. She didn't know if that was cause for relief or caution. "What is it?"

Kiphoris stepped back, allowing her a better view. Formora stopped in her tracks. It was a pile of still steaming... something. She glanced at Kiphoris. "Organs?"

He nodded grimly. " _Eia._ Blood matches Revlis."

Formora inhaled sharply. "Oh."

The Captain looked away, rapidly clicking in a fashion that Formora could only describe as angry. "I will kill the murderer of mine-kin. I will make them suffer. They will know the-"

A solid beam of blue-white lightning split the air and shot towards them. Formora ducked and leapt aside as the beam streamed past and tore through the broken platform, effortlessly melting through solid steel and even into the rock behind it. It roared and surged with all the concentrated fury of a winter storm.

It lasted all of a few seconds, but it was long enough that Formora could see that it came out from an eternally long tunnel cast in lightless shadow. When the beam ended, a small bluish pinprick of light emanated from the other end, so distant she could hardly see it at all.

The silence afterwards was almost as deafeningly loud as the beam. Kiphoris picked himself up and glared hatefully into the tunnel. "Eldrin," he began, not taking his eyes off what lay before them

" _Eia?_ "

" _Da lun-sloat ta._ "

Eldrin dipped his head and grasped at the pack strapped to his side. Formora took the opportunity to ask, "What was that? The storm?"

Kiphoris didn't turn around. "It may be our foe. Or it may be the Light-Thief. I cannot tell. Eldrin will find out."

The smaller Eliksni had produced an odd cuboid device made of red metal which, when he pressed a claw against it, unfolded small metal wings on its rear. Three glassy yellow eyes lit up on its front, and it rose in the air with a hum. Another segment unfolded below the metal creature, shaped much like the rifles of the Eliksni.

"What is that?" She heard herself asking.

"Shank," Kiphoris grunted. He unstrapped his long-barreled weapon from over his back and knelt down, peering through the scope. " _Eldrin. Da._ "

The other Eliksni chirped an affirmative and focused on a second device, much smaller but with a mirror-like screen. After a moment Formora realized the screen was showing exactly what the metal drone saw. _Very clever._

The Shank shot forward down the tunnel until the sounds of its flight receded back into silence and it was lost from view. Formora drew her sidearm and squinted at the screen. The Shank was moving too fast, but it wasn't like they were missing much. The eyes of the machine lit up everything before it, illuminating the bare rock floor and walls in all their basic glory.

Until, of course, it reached a certain point. The glow ahead disappeared from the Shank's view. Formora looked up. The glow was still there, but... diminished. Dulled.

"It curled up like a flower," Kiphoris muttered. "Eldrin?"

Eldrin shook his head and focused all his attention on the screen, which had slowly begun to crackle with interference. The connection between screen and Shank was growing taut.

**000**

The creature had changed. The outside of it had keratinized into a hard exoskeleton, and the bioluminescence only showed where the shell was thinnest - such as around its neck, underbelly, and joints. It had a solid form, a mix between a powerful wildcat and a carnivorous insect. It stood as talle as a horse, but broader, and its head was a heavy skull with two bright eyes that betrayed not a shred of emotion. Its maw was wide and filled with crystallic fangs, and the glow from its throat shone right through them. Its bone-thin tail snapped through the air like a living whip. Two large spines protruded from its shoulders like two towers, lit up with vibrant blue fire. Sacs of bioluminescent liquid located just below the shell lined its neck. It had four limbs, the rear pair ending in hoof-like growths and the forelegs balancing on the knuckles of its long clawed fingers.

It studied them almost thoughtfully, but there was no mistaking its violent intent. It drooled a burning liquid that ate into the stone below, and it inched forward eagerly, hunger evident.

"Oh shi-" Ikharos raised Orúm, hoping the blade would make the beast keep its distance, but it didn't care in the slightest. It slapped aside the weapon with its unnervingly prehensile tail and struck forward. Ikharos raised an arm just in time to save himself, and the monster's jaws clamped around his feathered bracer which, thankfully, held. The creature had broken through his personal shield like it wasn't even there.

Even so, the weight and power of the creature forced him from his feet and onto the stone. The back of Ikharos' helmet cracked against the floor, and he felt warm air flush down his neck.

The creature lifted him up and shook him about, then settled with slamming him against the stone wall. Ikharos cried out as he crashed against rock, nothing more than a toy in the thing's grip. It lifted a forearm and raked its claws across him, drawing another scream. It could have killed them and there, Ikharos knew, but it had decided to play around.

The pain, though, was impossible. More than it should have been. It felt like each claw left a trail of burning napalm in his flesh as they ripped through his armour with the utmost ease. He was burning, but not the normal way. Not Solar, not even fire. Venom.

Lennox had always called it the _bad burn._ The only burn that would keep a Guardian down for long. Ghosts had a hard time reconstructing people when there was over-potent venom in their system. It was easier to bring people back from ashes than that.

The beast recoiled and he fell from its grip. Riilix was there, having already bloodied her electrified sword. She held a dagger in a spare hand, and when the beast dipped back towards her, she sent it back with a thrust that just missed its eye. The monster, growling angrily, swung out with its tail. Ikharos gritted his teeth and tried to get into a standing position. He felt around for his own sword, which he hoped was on the ground nearby.

The monster must have had enough, because it threw itself at Riilix, ignoring the blades and smashing into her, biting down onto the Eliksni with an ugly crunch.

Ikharos swore when piercing pain coursed through his arm, and he gingerly lifted Orúm in his bloody palm. The blade was damn sharp and now his grip was slick and unsteady. That was the price for dropping it.

He stumbled to his feet and brought the sword the bear, bringing it down on the creature's flank. It let go of Riilix and jumped back, though Ikharos doubted he did any real damage. It glared at him with its featureless eyes and stalked forward.

" _Jierda!_ " He shouted. The monster was hit with the full force of the spell and tossed down the tunnel, disappearing into the darkness. Ikharos inhaled huge gulps of air as the pain across his chest brought him to his knees. He looked down at the wound and wished he didn't; the venom glowed with the same bioluminescence as the creature.

He gritted his teeth and found the strength to stand again, taking one tortured step at a time. He found Riilix by the dimming shine of her eyes and felt for the wound. His hand came away wet. The monster's teeth had torn straight through her armour and biosuit both. A clawed hand weakly grasped at his shoulder, and she pressed a shock pistol into his hands.

"... Ahlok..." The dying Marauder gurgled. She passed only moments later, eyes dimming away until he couldn't see a thing.

All aside from the venom, that was. It was in his veins now, and he keenly felt it burning all throughout.

" _Xiān_ _,_ " he begged. " _Please..._ "

He received no answer in return.

**000**

The screen was abuzz with interference, but the Shank still managed to send back _some_ of what it saw. The three of them huddled around it, hoping that the rest of their comrades were alive. Most of what the three of them saw did little to comfort them. The Shank flew for miles and miles, longer than the tunnel should have been, which triggered alarms in Kiphoris' head. He'd been in the Reef long enough to learn of the unsettling magics that took root in the universe. He'd seen some of it when the Wolves had eked out a living among the planets and moons of Outer Sol before the fated Scatter. The magics had been most prevalent in the Jovian peoples and their gods the Nine. His father had warned him to stay away from it whenever he could.

The Shank stopped moving. Kiphoris leaned forward, curious, and he the reason why quickly became apparent. There was a mass of torn flesh and chitin on the ground, with scraps of metal tossed about. The corpse had once been an Eliksni, but something had decided it didn't like that.

"Who is it?" Kiphoris asked tiredly. This was what he hated most: losing his crew mates.

Eldrin's answer was shaky with sorrow. "I... think it is Kalaker."

Kiphoris stepped away and closed his eyes. "Psekisk." His claws dug into his palms and drew blood. "How did he..."

"Burned, mine-Captain. And torn apart. It would have been quick." The Marauder clicked his mandibles anxiously. "I do not see the others."

"The tunnel goes on?"

"It does."

"Find them." Kiphoris glared at the glow at the end of the tunnel. Either it was a façade, or something strange was afoot, but he silently vowed that, no matter what it turned out to be, he would tear it all down in the name of justice and vengeance. He would level the entire mountain range if need be.

**000**

Ikharos panted. _Just one more step._

He stepped forward. _Just one more._

He dragged his other leg forward. _Just one._

He repeated the cycle again and again. The voice in his head was silent, so he attempted to substitute it with his own. It wasn't nearly as comforting or encouraging as Xiān's was.

He had no idea where he was headed. All Ikharos knew was that the creature was somewhere behind him, and that if he followed the wall surely it would lead somewhere. If he stopped he was dead. _But if I keep going, I'm still dead. Just... just one more step, then I can rest._

One step turned to two, two to three, three to four, and so on. At some point he figured his drive would run out and he'd just collapse. But that point hadn't yet arrived, so onwards he stumbled and tripped as venom too strong for his hyperactive immune system ripped through his body. It hurt most when it reached into his heart, and stumbles turned into half-falls, but each time he picked himself up and carried on.

* * *

_"I honestly think we're just dumb."_

_Ikharos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure."_

_"What, you don't think so? Ike, we've crashed in the damn Outback!_

_"Did we? I hardly noticed."_

_"We didn't tell anyone where we're going! "_

_"That's on you."_

_"What? Why me?"_

_"Because you know I never do."_

_Lennox huffed. "That's going to kill you one of these days. You'll be stuck in a Hive nest or a Devils camp and no one will know where to look for you."_

_He shrugged, unbothered. "So?"_

_"Doesn't that, I don't know, scare you?"_

_Ikharos sighed. "I've lived over a century without relying on anyone else. It's just the norm. I'm fine with it."_

_"Even the best of us are no more invincible than the worst," Gecko said softly. When the rest turned to look at him, he shyly drifted down to Lennox's shoulder._

_"Where'd that come from?" She asked, a smile dancing in her optics._

_Gecko suddenly discovered a newfound interest in looking at dead bushes. "Nowhere."_

_Lennox scoffed. "We've got to keep you from those nasty Warlocks. They're poisoning your mind."_

_"Wow, thanks," Ikharos drawled._

_She laughed. "Not you! You hardly count as a Warlock."_

_"Then what am I?"_

_"A grumpy old man."_

_"... I thought that was Osiris."_

_They were blessed with glorious, beautiful silence. For all of five seconds._

_"Ten green bottles hanging on the wall,  
_ _Ten green bottles hanging on the wall,  
_ _And if one green bottle should accidentally fall,  
_ _There'll be nine green bottles hanging on the wall!"_

_"Please, for the love of all that's good in the world, stop."_

_"It's a long way to Adelaide, my man. I need to sing_ something. _"_

* * *

More wall to follow. More walking. More talking to himself. Minutes stretched out so they felt like hours, and hours into days. Only his helmet's chronometer kept him halfway sane, and then only just. His mind, once full of noise and warmth, was lonely.

He knew the beast was tracking him. It stayed out of sight, but it was always there. Ikharos could barely form any coherent thoughts through the haze of exhaustion and pain, and that was always in the centre of his mind. He had no idea what it was, no idea how it managed to disable his Light, and no idea how to kill it.

He first thought it to be an Ahamkara, but even they weren't capable of crippling a Guardian's ability to use Light. It didn't want his desires. It wanted his fear and inevitable death, nothing less.

The cave wall suddenly stopped, and Ikharos almost fell down the new passage. He froze, unsure, and felt around. The stone felt smooth-cut, and it appeared to be a staircase going... somewhere.

With a final glance thrown over his shoulder to ensure the creature wasn't behind him, Ikharos took to the stairs.

**000**

Kiphoris paced about, swords drawn, both unwilling to offer himself up to the magics ahead and yet determined to see his crew safe. And if whatever killed them came to investigate, then he would even the score.

The light ahead brightened. In a flash he brought out his wire rifle and studied the glow. It had opened back up, hungry for more visitors. It had been a few hours since it closed and no longer than that. Kiphoris was beginning to piece together what its purpose was.

" _Kiphoris-Veskirisk!_ " Eldrin shouted, voice thick with emotion. Kiphoris rushed over, his every stride leaden with jumpy anxiety.

"What is it?" He asked, but as soon as he saw what was on the screen he knew. "... Oh Riilix..."

It looked like she had been savaged by a wild beast. Her neck and shoulder were mangled, and blood pooled below her. Her eyes were dark with death.

Kiphoris roared. It was a wordless cry of rage, and he hoped the perpetrator of the killings heard it. Let it tremble with fear, knowing it had earned the ire of the House of Scar.

"Where's Ikharos?" Formora asked. Kiphoris admired her ability to remain calm. He couldn't manage it. Not with dead kin and their killer still breathing.

The Shank twisted around. There was too much blood for Riilix alone, and some of it was of a different hue. The crimson of humans, though there was no body to be seen. Mixed with the rest of the gore was a strange blue susbtance that floated on top of the red like a kind of oil. It was wispy, more a mist than liquid, and where it touched the stone floor it fizzled violently.

"Shall we obtain a sample?" Eldrin inquired. He shook with barely-restrained sorrow for the rest of his pack, and his own fury was palpable.

"Do it," Kiphoris replied. His fangs clacked together noisily.

The Shank lowered itself and, with an unfolded limb, snagged a few drops. It flew off once it had finished, and the Eliksni awaited the results.

What they received was at first a confusing mess, but the Shank was able to gradually separate the human blood from the other substance and analyze the latter. That, on the other hand, might as well have been as clear as day. It was nigh on unrecognizable, but the closest thing to it provided the worst news Kiphoris had seen yet.

"Psekisk," he swore.

Eldrin sat back, a look of utter defeat on his face. "No."

"What is it?" Formora questioned.

Kiphoris closed his eyes and answered her in her human tongue. "Star-Eaters."

**000**

It was coming for him. Ikharos limped as fast as he could. He could hear it brushing past stone statues a few hundred feet behind.

The newest chamber he'd found himself in was massive, and it wasn't a cave. It was a temple of some sort, and the floor was lined with rows of statues depicting giant, though squat, warriors bearing axes, swords, and shields. The light wasn't much better, but there was another chamber a mile ahead, and a few weak rays shone through.

It was too far and Ikharos knew it. Even if he did make it, what good would it do to be able to see? His Lumina was useless, Orúm couldn't pierce the creature's exoskeleton, and he had no access to his Light.

A new pulse of pain forced him to his knees. The venom would kill him regardless. Ikharos couldn't get enough stale air into his lungs. He groaned and rolled over, but even then the universe refused the allow him any measure of comfort. The quiver on his back was a hard piece of metal, especially with the-

His eyes shot open. Ikharos pulled himself up so he sat against a statue, and pulled the quiver over his back. He detached and unfolded the bow, then ejected and pulled out a pair of bodkin arrows. He angled himself so he faced the path leading back to the tunnels and, with a brief hesitation, tossed one of the arrows.

It didn't go far; he simply didn't have the strength. The Arc-empowered arrow clattered and slid along the ground until it bounced against something. The pale crackle of the arrow illuminated the knuckles and limb of the monster and a part of its fearsome head. The creature stared at him. It looked like it was grinning.

The creature crushed the arrow underfoot and, now that its cover was gone, lit up with a bright shimmer of blue. It displayed its bioluminescent self proudly. It wasn't just playing around with him; it was showing off.

Ikharos fitted the second arrow to his bow and tried to pull back the string, but it resisted him. He didn't have the strength for that either. He tugged and tugged, but it wouldn't give.

"That's that," he muttered. He glared at the monster. It looked bigger again. It had grown exponentially in a matter of hours. Whatever it was, it was too dangerous. More than he was, that was for sure.

The beast stalked forward at a leisurely pace. A thick tri-pronged tongue slithered over its fangs and tasted the air. Its bright eyes never left him.

A crackle of Arcfire abruptly slammed into the creature's side. Both Ikharos and the beast gave a start as a Fallen Shank suddenly flew out of nowhere and raced at the monster with a single-minded determination. It continued to pepper the beast with Arc bolts until the monster unceremoniously lashed the Shank out of the air with its tail, as if the drone were nothing more than an irritating insect.

The Shank hit the stone floor and erupted. The monster was engulfed in flames. It turned about, quite unbothered by its burning state, and sent Ikharos a less-than-pleased look that clearly said: _this has gone on long enough._

"Too right," the Warlock murmured. He dropped the bow and brought Orúm to bear. He used the sword as leverage to get into a standing position. He grasped it in both hands and lifted it before him, blade aimed at the beast. "Come on then. Let's not drag this out."

The monster bounded towards him, still aflame, and Ikharos thrust forward with Orúm as if it were a spear rather than a longsword. He struck true, but then so did the beast. Orúm sunk halfway into the creature's left eye, and one of the monster's paws caught his helm. The claws ripped through the metal like a hot knife through butter and raked down Ikharos' skull.

Ikharos howled with pain and tried to disengage, but the monster thrashed about and he wasn't willing to let go of his sword. In the end they reached a compromise - of sorts - and the creature swiped at the Rider's blade with long, bony fingers again and again until they both heard a crack. The metal shattered into two, and Ikharos fell back with half a sword in hand.

"Shit."

The beast swatted him aside and duly resumed its thrashing. He smacked bodily into a stone statue and fell hard. Ikharos groaned as total pain enveloped him. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He coughed and spluttered, trying to catch a breath, but it felt like one of his lungs had been punctured. " _Xiān, now would a great time to make yourself useful!_ "

She didn't say a word.

He turned his head. Orúm's hilt was too far. His bow was closer, and he might last long enough to reach it, but he couldn't-

* * *

_Socrates braced the rifle against his shoulder and took aim. "Recite the elements to me."_

_"Arc, Solar, and Void."_

_"What is Arc?"_

_"Potential. Intensity. A river that cannot be stopped."_

_The older Risen gave a shrug. "It differs from person to person. Solar?"_

_"Controlled power. Measured strength. Seething rage. The steady caress of the sun."_

_"Yours, perhaps. Mine is cooler, tempered into a healing touch. Now tell me of Void."_

_"It is nothingness. Death. The absence of being."_

_"That's where you're wrong." Socrates took the shot. The Devil Captain's head erupted in a flurry of ether and bloody chunks. Both Risen summoned their Sparrows and sped away._

_"Then what is it?!" Ikharos shouted over the wind howling past._

_"Infinities! Endless power! It's a font of strength nothing can hope to contain, and it's everywhere! It's as common as Light! More!" Socrates glanced behind. "Now show me how well you can wield it!"_

_Ikharos turned his Sparrow about. The Captain's Pike gang were in hot pursuit. "Alone?!"_

_Socrates didn't answer. He just rode off, leaving Ikharos to clean up his mess._

* * *

Ikharos crawled over to the weapon, leaving a trail of blood for the monster to follow. His fingers brushed against the cool metal of the compound bow and his fingertips caught a grip. He dragged it towards him and turned himself over. His strength was fading. He didn't have time to make a mistake.

He blocked off everything, even the pain, and struggled to find his usual haunt in the nullscape. The quiet pools of Void awaited him, but he feared he would drown in the pain dragging him beneath the surface. With one last surge of willpower he broke free and took a breath in the clean airs of the beyond.

His muscles shook as he brought the titanium-weave string back. His aim was unsteady, so he needed to wait until it was close. Ikharos eyed the monster with all the hate he could ever muster for a singular entity. It screamed at him loud enough to finally put an end to his overtaxed eardrums, but that little agony went unnoticed. Ikharos didn't let go.

When it glowed bright enough to light up the entire chamber, he didn't let go.

When it charged him, he didn't let go.

Only when it's jaws were dropping down to rip off his head did he release. The Arc arrow sailed through the air and straight into the monster's shimmering maw.

It hit him with all the force of a speeding Goliath hovertank, and Ikharos' world went dark.

**000**

"Is... is he dead?"

Kiphoris didn't know. He assumed so. Even a Light-Thief couldn't hope to match a Star-Eater. Nothing could.

Eldrin deactivated the screen and packed it away. "The Shank is dead, mine-Captain," he quietly reported.

"What do we do?" Formora asked. She edged closer and closer to the tunnel. She didn't understand the threat.

They waited for his orders. Kiphoris didn't know what to do. If a Star-Eater was present, it was best to leave it to whatever planet it had chosen and warp elsewhere, but they didn't have that option. He wanted to warn Tarrhis, but he didn't have that option either.

The light in the tunnel flashed and grasped their attention, but it only lasted for a brief moment. After that it disappeared entirely. The air flow changed - he could feel it.

Without waiting for another word Formora surged forwards. " _Garjzla,_ " she said quickly, and an orb of bright white filled her palm. The shadows of the tunnel no longer seemed so oppressive; they fled from the light cast by the magic orb. Whatever curse had once held the place was gone.

"Did he... did he kill it?" Eldrin wondered aloud.

Kiphoris snarled and ran after Formora. She was being too reckless, but he wouldn't let her throw her life away. He had lost too many of his crew already. He didn't need her death on his conscience.

She ran faster than he anticipated, however, and she refused to heed his frantic shouts to stop. She delved deeper into the cave, and Kiphoris was helpless to follow.

* * *

When they arrived by the place Kiphoris _knew_ Riilix had died - beside the small hole in the cavern wall - he found no remains. Not even blood. It was as if she had never been there. Even Ikharos' blood had been scoured from the place. It infuriated him. It made his blood boil and ether burn.

Formora didn't wait up. The elf was set on her course. And Kiphoris was being dragged along behind. Eldrin, ever the loyal soldier, had in turn followed him.

"Gah, you foolish human," Kiphoris muttered. He gave the scene of Riilix's murder one last cursory look and followed in Formora's footsteps. Her orb was bright and easy to follow in the otherwise lightless tunnel.

They found the staircase easily. It was framed by careful stonework, and dwarven runes had been etched around the entrance. Formora didn't give those any thought and raced down the stairs, forcing Kiphoris and Eldrin to follow. The Captain couldn't help but feel they were falling into yet another trap. His mistake with the elevator already cost him three good soldiers, and he didn't want to lose any more.

The staircase led directly into the cavern of statues, and Kiphoris expected to see the same: no corpses, no evidence Ikharos had ever been there.

He was proven wrong.

They found the bodies in the centre of the colossal room. The huge, terrible beast that had slaughtered Kiphoris' Marauders and the Light-Thief a few paces away. Both were very dead. Xiān flew above her human, barely capable of keeping herself aloft.

"I couldn't help him," she said numbly as they approached. "I... I couldn't help him."

"Is he...?" Formora knelt beside Ikharos.

"I-I don't know. I've never seen anything like this!"

Eldrin stepped close to the dead Star-Eater. "He killed it... _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ , look. He killed it!"

"He did," Kiphoris replied bitterly.

"I'll need time." Xiān landed on Formora's shoulder, her shell shaking with terror. The elf appeared briefly surprised by the gesture, which she quickly masked, but she didn't shake the Ghost loose. "It was suppressing my Light. I couldn't help him, couldn't even talk to him! It... It was going to kill me..."

"How did he kill it?" Formora asked in a calm voice.

"Stabbed the eye," Kiphoris grunted. He could see the shattered blade still lodged in the beast's eye socket. "Softer than the body."

Xiān blinked. "No. That didn't kill it. He had to shoot it in the throat."

Kiphoris didn't dare open up the Star-Eater's maw. That was asking for a painful death. "Will he live?"

"I think so. I... I just need time to get rid of... whatever _this_ is." She stared pointedly at the glowing venom still visible on Ikharos' wounds. "It's not normal venom. There's Arc in it too, and-"

"We leave. Now," Kiphoris ordered. He cast a wary eye around the chamber. "Bring him back."

"I can't! The venom's still strong."

Kiphoris growled. The idea of lugging a corpse behind him was not one he was comfortable with. "How long?"

"I… don't know!"

The Captain gave up and roughly grabbed the dead human by his arm. "Eldrin. Assist me."

The Marauder dutifully picked up Ikharos' other arm. "Are we to leave?" He asked.

" _Eia._ "

Formora moved in front of them. "We're going back?"

"Yes," Kiphoris motioned for her to get out of the way. "I will not deal in matters concerning Star-Eaters."

"But it's dead!"

" _That_ ," he pointed at the giant beast, "was only a youngling. Little more than a hatchling. It may not be alone. I will not stay to find out. We are leaving. We will climb out."

"What if there's something there? Something cut the chain!"

"A better risk than staying. I am sick of following unthought plans. This is mine-plan, and I have thought through it. It _will_ be followed. Am I understood?"


	33. Shadows and Mountains

Zhonoch read through the message for the fourth time, still hoping it might have changed or that he missed something. It took him some time to come to terms with what he saw before him. Irrefutable evidence. "Where is he now?"

"Centurion Ma'roch is scheduled to stand for guard duty for the next solar cycle," Orche reported. "Shall I reschedule?"

"No." Zhonoch propped his elbows on the steel table. "Leave him be. Leave them all be."

"Sir?"

"Prohibit libations. Start rationing. And set officers we trust in charge of monitoring those rations."

"What will we tell the Worldbreakers?"

"Soulrazer business. If they want to keep their heads, they'll stay out of it." The Vigilant tiredly turned about. Running covert operations was an exhausting business, and he sometimes doubted he had the patience for it, but necessity had forced the responsibility onto his shoulders.

They hadn't yet found anything to imply Da'aurc's guilt, but Orche was still adamant that the Primus was among those turned. They had to tread softly, which went against everything Zhonoch knew. He was a Vigilant - a soldier, not a damn spy. It was a bad roll of the dice, nothing more. He was lucky to have the brothers helping out. They proved invaluable.

Orche tapped his datapad, which Zhonoch swore had never left the Psion's hands since they arrived in the Calatonar system. "Tlac's running through another bunch. Eight Pillar."

"Good boys, those," Zhonoch muttered. "Any word on the outlaws?"

"Yes! The Eliksni have left Ceunon behind, and have assumedly taken Subject Merida-X8 with them. Scouts report a vague eastward heading, but Eliksni scouts spread out in all directions. It doesn't look like their full force, though. Worldbreaker analysts hypothesize that either a significant portion of the Eliksni warband perished in the fall or are otherwise indisposed."

"Hope they suffered. Wouldn't be fair if all they got was a knock about the skull." Zhonoch shifted closer to the table. His eyelids were drooping and his stomach growled, but he did his best to ignore the weaknesses of flesh. He had a duty to perform. "Anything else?"

"Specialists have discovered limits in the paracausal language wielded by the humans. If overtaxed and death is imminent, there is nothing they can do. However, more carefully worded spells _can_ be dropped, ensuring survival. The issue is finding the right words. We have only a basic understanding of the vocabulary. It would be ideal if we found a glossary of some sort."

Zhonoch nodded along, only half-listening.

"We've also discovered that officers who don't sleep are next to useless."

"Yes, I imagine... oh." The Vigilant met Orche's singular eye. "You little-! Officers also hold the right to punish grunts who speak out of turn."

The strategist shrugged. "I'm sure they do. Doesn't change the fact that you're still next to useless."

Zhonoch cracked a grin. "You've gotten bolder. Why would that be?"

"Psion things," Orche answered cryptically.

The Vigilant shook his head in exasperation. Asking after 'Psion things' was just asking for a headache. "Suit yourself."

"Get some rest. There's nothing for you to do."

"Where's Cadon?"

"Still in a debriefing. The Worldbreaker analysts want to gather all they can on Subject Merida-X8. They're scouring his memories for anything related to the human."

**000**

The Eighth Pillar were well-trained soldiers, but they were unorthodox as far as Legion norms went. Tlac blamed that on their backgrounds. They came from frontier worlds not so different from their current location. They were the sons and daughters of fringe system-merchants and colonists who'd spread out during the early Golden Years of Calus' rule. Some were lucky and were born into retired military families, so the Legions weren't a far cry from what they were used to at home, but others knew only the scarce laws of the empire's edge and nothing else. They weren't wild by any means, but they held values and beliefs that weren't common in Legionaries.

They were leaner than most Cabal. Erchan III, where most of the Eight Pillar had been recruited, had a lighter gravity than Torobaatl, and the fauna there were springy beasts. Some of the soldiers in front of him had evidently pursued hobbies like hunting during their adolescent years, if the gnawed remains of Calatonarian beasts by their feet were any indication.

Their physical statures, peasant origins, and unusual mannerisms were exactly what Soulrazers wanted. Vigilants and Agents needed to be fast, they needed to be acute, and they couldn't have connections to the empire's inner core, where the Praetorate ran everything. It would risk being compromised. The Soulrazers were meant to be independent and critical of other legions, not dragged into their politics.

Tlac was more than pleased to find the Eight Pillar clean of contraband. Their minds were dry deserts and sprawling tundras, lacking the intense typhoon insanity of Hivetouch.

"What's this about, sir?" Centurion Malac politely inquired.

Tlac looked the officer in the eye and, in casual tone, said, "The storms of Milichin are rampaging this season. The mudflats are in turmoil."

Malac nodded slowly. "Ah, and the crabs will be tide-washed. I understand. Is the weather so..." The Centurion of the Eight Pillar looked past Tlac and saluted. "Sir!"

Tlac swiveled about.

Neuroc, Flayer of the Worldbreakers, returned the centurion's salute. "At ease. Tlac?"

"Neuroc," he greeted cautiously.

She either missed or ignored his wary tone. "There's been developments. We need to speak. Come with me."

It was not a request. Tlac turned and gave Malac a knowing nod before leaving with the fellow Flayer. They left the ramshackle barracks of salvage behind and wandered through the camo. Neuroc didn't say anything for a while, and Tlac didn't press her. He was content to follow and wait for her to speak. They had time.

They wandered through the military camp until, at last, they reached the edge where they overlooked the myriad of valleys leading through the local mountain range. A vast forest rose up from earth, only ever broken by sheer peaks of grey stone. Beyond that, so far that Tlac had to strain to see it in the dark of night, was the western ocean.

Stars glittered above, and Tlac had to wonder how many of them were just weaponized satellites. Some of the formations were familiar. If he dedicated himself to the task, he might be able to discern Torobatl's location. It wasn't his birth place, but since the legions drew him in it had been as much a home as anywhere. Overcrowded, rife with corruption and crime, it was the beating heart of their powerful, though flawed, empire.

Torobatl: where dreams went to die.

Torobatl: where tyrants were born and forced onto the stars.

He loved it in its entirety.

"Something's wrong," Neuroc whispered. She turned to face him. "I'm here not as a Worldbreaker, but a concerned citizen of the Cabal empire. Do you understand?"

Tlac nodded. "I do. What's the problem?"

She sighed. "The Primus, Da'aurc, he..." She looked away. "He wants to organize war games."

"Oh... What did you tell him?"

"I told him that with our depleted resources and enemies on all sides, pitting our soldiers against one another would be ill-advised. He didn't listen to me. He said it would be good for morale." Neuroc turned back to him. "I don't think he's in his right mind."

Tlac's mind whirled. "Not good."

"Yes, I assumed as much," Neuroc replied drily.

"No, not tha- Yes, that too, but..." He quickly reached out to Orche and relayed everything. His brother was quick to respond. Tlac sent back an affirmative. He understood. "Neuroc, under the five-hundred-and-seventy-first Imperial Decree, you cannot betray the information I am about to give you... Is there anyone you trust? Anyone you trust completely?"

Neuroc tilted her head. "My staff. Why?"

"Do you consent to be beholden to the Imperial Decree?"

"I consent to be beholden to the Imperial Decree. What's going on?"

Tlac grimaced. "Da'aurc's compromised."

"Compromised?"

"The Soulrazers have reason to believe that there's infectious contraband making the rounds of the Worldbreaker ranks. Ground Wormhusks."

"Wormhusks... you mean there's a cult." Neuroc glanced back to camp. "Is there any evidence?"

Tlac hesitated. "A number of those infected are known to us. We've begun measures to protect the rest of the Soulrazers. However, we don't have anything on Da'aurc just yet. And without evidence our case against him won't fly."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"You need to enact similar measures to protect yourself and your staff. If there's anything else you know, come straight to us." Tlac held her gaze. "We need you to-"

A screaming klaxon in his ears cut him off. Tlac winced; the implants were loud. Neuroc tensed before him, hearing her own alarm.

"Intruders," she surmised.

"Motion sensors must have been set off," Tlac mumbled. He idly listened in to the panicked chatter of the Battlenet. He opened his mind up to join the rest of the Psions in metaconcert. The sudden influx of foreign thoughts brought him to his knees, though it eventually subsided as each and every member upheld the weight of their gathered consciousness together.

" _There,_ " he felt Neuroc think, and he looked where she was pointing.

Across the valleys and mountains slithered a pool of darkness, a wave of pure antilight. It crawled through the forest like a slow frost, headed towards their position. Tlac reported it and felt the ensuing chaos as the confusion and uncertainty it generated spread throughout the camp. Soldiers were alerted, artillery guns were loaded, ships were ready for takeoff, but they didn't know what _it_ was.

Then the wave stood up. It was massive. Impossibly tall. It towered over trees, over everything. Its very appearance didn't make sense to Tlac; it was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It had no weight or substance to it, like it wasn't even there. It had no mass, but it had a certain depth that likened it to a living ocean.

The thing turned its great horned head and its mind opened its bleary eyes on the Cabal encampment. The metaconcert shattered. Tlac groaned and clutched his head. He tried to reconnect, to find his brothers, anything at all, but all he felt was a spiking pain. The entity out over the forests was phenomenally powerful, and it only afforded them a sliver of its attention.

It wasn't even awake. The entity's mind was subdued, as if it were fast asleep.

Tlac felt cool fingers wrap around his shoulder. Neuroc's mind touched his own, and together they set about finding and shepherding the rest of the Psions back together into a new metaconcert. They needed it if they hoped to fend of this threat. In the end it turned out their efforts were for nothing.

The entity fell apart. The liquid that was its body lost traction and flowed away into the very air, dispersed and lost. The suffocating presence was gone.

Tlac looked back out over the wilderness beyond the safety of camp. It looked just the same as before. Nothing had changed. The trees, the mountains, all of it was untouched. Like the entity hadn't even been there in the first place.

**000**

The Beors were beautiful, though it might just have been the jovial mood that had overcome her once realizing she was outside of the empire. Tellesa was ecstatic, and nothing, not the damn heat, not the constant thirst, not even Murtagh's and Eragon's brief brawl could have changed that.

It helped that she was the one to finish that fight, clouting both boys over the head. Saphira _loved_ that part.

The only thing that dragged at her high spirits was the shadow of Urgals marching miles behind them. Those monsters did what little else could now: they frightened her. She had seen just what they were capable of at Kuasta. In the same way she knew they were mortal. If it came to it, she wouldn't begrudge the opportunity to make a last stand and take as many of them down with her as she possibly could.

But she didn't think it would come to that. Between Saphira and the Eliksni, she was confident they would find a way out of the Urgal's line of sight. The three were currently out hunting and scouting out possible paths into the mountain range they traveled alongside. The Beors were too steep to hike, so they had to find a place where the slopes evened out. Their absence took with it a sense of vague safety, which she rectified by balancing her Tigerspite across her legs. The weapon was loaded and polished to a gleam.

Where Eragon had his Zar'roc, and Murtagh had his fine steel sword, she had her rifle. Her sword was only adequate, something a common soldier would bear, but the gun was a weapon unlike any other. It was impersonal and cold function-wise, and at first seemed such a simple thing to operate, but Ikharos had drilled into her head that it was the complete opposite.

* * *

_"Gun maintenance takes longer than sword maintenance," he said. "A rusty sword will still stab someone, but a rusty gun? That's just looking for trouble."_

* * *

It took patience, it took skill, and it took-

Her line of thought was abruptly interrupted by the rasp of a sword being drawn. Tellesa jumped to her feet, the rifle's stock already fitted against her shoulder, and followed the boy's sight. Eastwards, but not far, were twentyish horsemen who looked right back at them. They were quite visibly armed.

"Could they be the Varden?" Murtagh wondered aloud.

They didn't look like it. Tellesa was not part of the Varden proper, but Rendan had been. He never told her the location of the Varden, though Tellesa always had a suspicion that he'd known exactly where it was. Something she would find out soon enough herself.

Provided they made it past these newcomers.

"According to Arya, they're still scores of leagues away. This might be one of their patrols or raiding groups."

"Assuming they're not bandits," Tellesa murmured. She and Murtagh mounted up, armed with a rifle and a bow respectively.

"Should we try to outrun them?" Eragon asked. He draped a blanket across Arya, the elf, who lay atop Snowfire.

Murtagh shook his head. "It wouldn't do any good. The horses are fine animals, but they're tired. Look at the steeds of those men. They're meant for running. They would catch us before we closed a half-mile. Besides, they might have something important to say."

Tellesa put on a feigned voice. "'The Hadarac is full of sand.'"

Murtagh cracked a tense grin. "Yes, perhaps something along those lines. Eragon, you best tell Saphira to hurry back. See if the Eliksni are with her."

After a moment Eragon nodded. "I've told her. The Eliksni aren't with her though." He took a shaky breath. "If they threaten us, I can frighten them away with magic. If that doesn't work, there's Saphira. I wonder how they'd react to a Rider? So many stories have been told about their powers. It might be enough to avoid a fight."

"Don't count on it," Murtagh said flatly. "If there's a fight, we'll just have to kill enough of them to convince them we're not worth the effort."

Tellesa tapped the Tigerspite. "I can do that."

The older of the two boys spared her a curious look. "So you can."

The lead horseman signaled with his mace and sent his men cantering towards them. The men whooped loudly, holding javelins and long knives above their heads. The weapons were rusty and not at all well-maintained, something which had begun to irk her. Four of them bore bows and trained arrows on the boys. Tellesa wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. Somewhat offended and somewhat relieved - the men didn't think she was a threat. That could be an advantage.

The leader swirled his mace and his men rushed to surround Tellesa, Eragon, and Murtagh. The moment they were fully encircled, the leader dropped his arm and examined them critically. The man smiled cruelly and chuckled. "Well, these are better than the usual dregs we find! At least we got healthy ones this time. And we didn't even have to shoot them. Grieg will be pleased."

Laughter spread throughout the band. Tellesa's finger tightened around the Tigerspite's trigger. _Slavers..._

"Now, as for you three, if you would be so good as to drop your weapons, you'll avoid being turned into a living quiver by my men." The archers grinned. The leader's eyes darted to Tellesa. "That includes you. Don't go thinking I don't see that sword."

Tellesa didn't move. It would only take a moment to lift and fire the gun, but in that time the archers could loose their arrows. Her only consolation lay in that the slavers didn't appear to understand what the gun actually was.

Murtagh shifted atop Tornac. "Who are you and what do you want? We are free to travel through this land. You have no right to stop us."

The leader's smile twisted to a condescending smirk. "Oh, I have every right. As for my name, _slaves_ do not address their masters in that manner, unless they want to be beaten." His smirk disappeared, replaced by a frown. "Throw down yours blades and surrender!"

She heard a rustle behind her and twisted around. One of the slavers had snuck up from behind and pulled the blanket off Arya. The man's face lit up, and he gaped in astonishment. "Torkenbrand, this one's an elf!"

The leader spurred his horse forward. Tellesa tensed, thinking that it would be the best chance she had to strike, but a shimmer in the air behind the horsemen grasped her attention. It had no shape, and to anyone else would have just been an illusion of the desert, but she knew it for what it was.

Tellesa nodded to the distortion. "They aren't friends," she said aloud.

The leader, Torkenbrand, turned to her with a half-smile on his face. "What was that?" He directed his horse to walk closer. "What are you holding? Give me tha-"

A scream split the air, and all eyes darted to the man who suddenly found himself torn off his horse. His compatriots gaped as his throat split open in a red smile, and Tellesa took the opportunity to fire the Tigerspite. One of the archers collapsed, sporting a red hole in his chest.

Beside her, Murtagh slammed an elbow back into the face of the man by Arya, knocking him from the saddle. He turned Tornac about and the warhorse rushed forward, bringing its hooves down on the downed man's back.

Another man suddenly found himself under attack from an invisible force, and the spray of blood coated the very thing that killed him. Paltis deactivated her tool of invisibility, and with her crimson-stained armour and twin swords, she cut a menacing figure. The Eliksni, who stood abnormally tall compared to all present, let loose a roar. The horses, and a few of the slavers, panicked.

It only grew worse for them when Saphira crashed down in the midst of them all and bared her fangs. The slavers' courage left them, and they fled for the hills.

Torkenbrand remained. His horse had gone wild with fear and bucked off the unprepared slaver, and he'd fallen hard. He rose up on unsteady legs and looked about with terrified eyes. "Wh-"

Tellesa readjusted her aim and shot him dead centre. The man slumped over and fell on the dusty ground with a thump.

"No!" Eragon suddenly exclaimed. The boy stared at her in shock and anger. "Wh... Why did you kill him?!"

She glanced back at the corpse. "He... was a slaver." The confusion ate away at the adrenaline running through her. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had managed to avoid getting shot. If the archers had been true trained soldiers, they wouldn't have panicked as they did. Tellesa was more than thankful for that. "Why do you care? He deserved it."

"That doesn't mean you should kill him!" Eragon fumed. "Where is your empathy?"

Tellesa's eyes hardened. "Back in Kuasta, with the dead." She pointed at Torkenbrand's corpse. "That man profited off the enslavement of living, breathing people. Killing people like him is doing the world a favour."

"No stranger's life is more important than our own," Murtagh added. "Especially not a man like him."

"You can just justify murder!" Eragon cried out angrily. "It's wrong!"

Tellesa agreed. "Murder is wrong. And there's no way to justify it. But who will enforce that justice? The king? His soldiers? Those bastards are injustice incarnate. Just like this man. This is _my_ justice. It's ugly, it's brutal, but it's right. As right as anything in this wrong world can be."

"It's still wrong to do!" Eragon snapped.

Tellesa gritted her teeth. "I. Don't. _Care_. Not anymore. I'll do what I have to if it means ridding the world of monsters like these so-called 'people.'"

The Rider's presumably furious retort was cut short when Alkris made a sharp clicking sound. He looked at them each in turn, his inner eyes narrowed. Tellesa couldn't help but feel they were being scolded.

"Must go," the Eliksni said at length.

Murtagh nodded. "He's right. There's no point waiting. The Urgals could catch up, or the slavers might return."

* * *

They rode onwards at a quick pace. The horses were spooked, and their adrenaline went to good use, but Tellesa didn't want to chance anything like that again. The animals had grown accustomed to the presence of Saphira and the Eliksni which in turn likely kept them from going wild like the beasts of the slavers', but aside from Tornac they weren't bred for war. If it came to another fight, there was a chance that the animals would flee, with or without their riders.

They finally found a way into the Beors. A wide valley opened up ahead like outstretched arms pulling them into an embrace. Distant forests loomed deep within, promising plentiful game and water. It was a relief.

They were close to the valley's entrance when they decided to stop for the night. Dinner was a silent affair as they all thought back on the day's bloody events, and Eragon wouldn't meet Tellesa's eye. Alkris and Paltis stayed closer to the humans than usual.

It was difficult to know what the Eliksni were feeling or thinking, but she'd picked up on a few things. She gathered that they were worried, though the reasoning escaped her. Maybe they were concerned about leaving her and the boys alone again, or maybe it was the little tool they occasionally spoke to, which only offered spitting hisses in return.

No matter why it was, their closeness brought with it a sense of security that Tellesa welcomed. Her nerves were alight, and she couldn't stay still long enough to grab any sleep.

"I'll take first watch," she eventually announced. Murtagh gave her a grateful nod and settled down. Eragon, once more, ignored her as he rested by Saphira's side.

The nights in the Hadarac were colder than she expected. It had come as a surprise, considering the tales of the 'scorching desert sands', but she was fortunate to have prepared. She wrapped her green cloak about herself and sat by the edge of camp.

Tellesa was exhausted, and yet her body was on high-alert. Every twitch of movement - be it the displacement of a few grains of sand or a distant desert bird - dragged at her focus and brought her new levels of panic. The ecstasy of being outside the empire hadn't survived the altercation with the slavers.

_Even out here, Galbatorix's rule can be felt._

She heard shuffling from behind her, and someone sat beside her. She could already tell from their breathing pattern who it was.

"'M fine," she mumbled.

"You lie, yes?"

She briefly closed her eyes, and a smile crept its way onto her face. "No."

Alkris chuckled. "Lie again."

Tellesa shrugged. "What if I am? It's not important. It's just... nerves."

"You feel fight in your blood, yes?"

"I... yes. I do."

"And true fight is behind?"

She exhaled slowly. "It is."

Alkris nodded thoughtfully. "I know it."

"I can't sleep. I... I think Eragon might be right. Which makes me as bad as those I fight."

"Why?"

"I killed people."

Alkris looked at her with one eye closed. "I too."

Tellesa shook her head. "No it's... I'm like him. I'm just a person who found a weapon, and now I've used it to take a life. It's alright for you, you're... different."

The Eliksni tilted his head. "Diff- _ar_ -ent? What is word?"

"Not the same," she explained. "And I mean it as... you are a soldier. You've been trained to become a soldier. Fighting and killing isn't just something you'd learned. It's your job."

" _Nama_. More than job. Is life." Alkris slouched. "But!" He suddenly perked up. "Now here. Now chance. Look." He scooped up a handful of sunbaked dirt. "World is rich. Much ether from here. Good for Eliksni. Good for Scars."

She was glad for the change in topic. "So you want to settle here?"

"Eh... It is not Alkris-choice."

"It's up to Kiphoris?"

" _Nama_. Tarrhis."

She had no idea who Tarrhis was. "Why don't you choose for yourself?"

Alkris gave her an odd look. "Mine-Eliksni must remain mine-Eliksni."

"I... think I understand? You want to stay with your people?"

" _Eia_." There was a short pause before the Eliksni said, "Tellesa fight good. Good sight. No fear."

"Thank you."

Alkris didn't say anything else. Neither did Tellesa. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, and the proximity of the Eliksni had a calming effect on her. They stayed there until Murtagh rose up to take his turn. Tellesa returned to her bedroll and, at long last, slumber finally came to her.

* * *

Eragon and Saphira went flying the next day. Tellesa wanted to talk with the Rider, but she thought it would be better to wait until both their tempers coolled. She didn't want to - and couldn't - apologize for her actions, but she could hopefully help him understand the _why_.

Alkris and Paltis stayed close to her and Murtagh as they delved deeper into the valley. The Eliksni evidently didn't trust their surroundings anymore, but Tellesa doubted the slavers would indeed return. Five men had been killed, and Saphira hadn't even been involved with those deaths. Tracking travelers to rob and enslave was one thing, but fighting a dragon was another. Saphira was easily large enough to kill the entire band.

Only an hour later Saphira swooped down and landed beside the horses. Tellesa brought her steed up short. "What is it?"

"The Urgals are overtaking us!" Eragon pointed behind them, though Tellesa couldn't see anything.

Murtagh held up his hands and measured the time left in the day. "How far do we still have to go?"

"Normally? I would guess another five days. At the speed we've been traveling, only three. But unless we get there tomorrow, the Urgals will catch us, and Arya will die."

"She might last another day."

"We can't count on it," Eragon objected. "The only way we can get to the Varden in time is if we don't stop for anything, least of all sleep. That's our only chance."

Murtagh laughed bitterly. "How do you expect to do that? We've already gone days without adequate rest. Unless Riders are made of different stuff to us mortals, you're as tired as we are. We've covered a staggering distance by now and the horses, in case you haven't noticed, are fit to drop. Another day of this might kill us all."

Tellesa closed her eyes. "I could... stay behind. Cause a distraction." She tapped her rifle for emphasis. "They'll take notice. If I can kill enough, that should buy you enough time to make it to the Varden."

"That would be suicide," Eragon said, crossing his arms. "We're not leaving you."

"I'm living on borrowed time. I should have died in Kuasta. This might be the will of the gods."

Saphira pushed her head forward so it took up all of Tellesa's view. " _We are_ not _leaving you. I will carry you if I have to._ "

Tellesa smiled weakly. "No arguing with a dragon. But if it comes to it, remember my life isn't worth either of yours."

Eragon sighed. "They're combing through the valley. The only way to evade them is to find sanctuary with the Varden."

"Then it's settled," Murtagh said abruptly. "I'll escape later. When we reach the Varden, I can disappear down a side valley and find my way to Surda, where I can hide without attracting too much attention."

"You're staying?" Tellesa asked with a measure of concern. She liked Murtagh. He was cool-headed, and though Eragon wasn't helpless, he was more experienced in the matters of the world than the Rider.

"Sleep or no sleep, I'll see you to the Varden."

"As we," Alkris announced. He looked past them, down the valley. "We fight. Kiphoris say 'see humans safe.' We see you safe. We leave." He glanced at Murtagh. "Scars help."

The boy bowed his head. "I would appreciate the company. Thank you."

* * *

For the rest of the day and all through the night they rode through the valley, but the Urgals had steadily kept up, even becoming visible to those on the ground.

"This is the last day," Eragon told them. "If we're not reasonably close to the Varden by noon, I'm going to fly ahead with Arya. You'll all be free to go wherever you want then, but you'll have to take Snowfire with you. I won't be able to come back for him."

"We could still get there in time..." Tellesa muttered. She looked back one last time before kicking her horse forwards. She could almost make out the individual figures among the gathered host. A few miles off, nothing more.

It was late in the morning that Paltis sniffed out a narrow valley tucked against the far side of a mountain. The valley looked so closed off that it could easily be overlooked by anyone who didn't know of it beforehand - or if they were Eliksni. A river, which Eragon identified as Beartooth River with some uncertainty, flowed out of it and looped carelessly across the valley. He confirmed it was where they needed to go. The Eliksni pulled back and stuck with them, weapons drawn. Tellesa loosened her sword and her held her rifle in front. She expected trouble to hit them soon. A quick glance informed her that the Urgals had closed the distance to little more than a league away. They were gaining.

The forest was their chance to escape. The trees grew high and thick among the Beors, and it would go a long way to obscure them from the view of the Urgals. There was something wild about the place, which she couldn't place. It felt old. More ancient than anywhere else in the entirety of Alagaësia, and all the more dangerous because of it.

The valley turned out to be larger than they anticipated. They had been tricked by the gigantic size of the mountains around them. What they thought was a slim pathway turned out to be a gaping valley mouth. Waterfalls dotted the sheer slopes on either side.

"The Varden are hidden at the end of this valley," Eragon informed them. "If we hurry, we might get there before nightfall."

Murtagh grunted unhappily. "How am I to get out of here? I don't see any valleys joining this one, and the Urgals are going to hem us in pretty soon. I need an escape route."

"Climb?" Alkris offered.

Murtagh eyed the cliffs on either side. "I don't think so."

"Don't worry," Eragon said impatiently. "This is a long valley, so there's sure to be an exit further in." He tied Arya to Snowfire's saddle. "Watch over her. I'm going to fly with Saphira. We'll meet you up ahead."

"Be careful," Tellesa warned. Saphira jumped into the sky moments later. Tellesa waved the dust from her eyes and took Snowfire's reins. "Come on, we don't have time to waste."

Murtagh lowered his head and let out a shaky breath. "No we don't."

For the umpteenth time they moved on. Paltis and Alkris slunk like great beasts beside the horses, taking in the sights and smells with vivid attention. They easily kept pace, what with their longer, more numerous limbs and seemingly unending supply of energy. What made them so tireless, Tellesa didn't know. It might have been the strange liquid they ingested on rare occasions, but that was an uneducated guess at best.

A few minutes later, Paltis suddenly ran ahead. She didn't go far, though, and stopped to inspect something on the ground. She chittered to the rest of them in her native language, but the gesture to hurry up was universal. Tellesa urged her exhausted mount to catch up.

What they found threw her for a loop.

"Wolf tracks," Murtagh observed. "They're... huge."

"Here soon." Paltis had more difficulty speaking the common language than Alkris, but both had improved considerably since they started learning.

"It was here recently," Tellesa surmised. She looked around the forest suspiciously. "Do you think it's nearby?"

"I don't..." Murtagh trailed off. "Saphira's coming back."

They all looked up and watched as the blue dragon slowed to a soft landing beside them.

"What's wrong?" Tellesa inquired. She didn't know if they could handle any further problems. She was exhausted and worried beyond measure. She had half a mind to turn around there and then to live up to her earlier promise.

"I made a mistake," Eragon admitted. "The Urgals have entered the valley. I tried to confuse them, but I forgot one of the rules of magic, and it cost me a great deal."

Murtagh rubbed his eyes furiously. "I can't believe the Urgals have followed us this far. They would have to be birds to catch up with us at this pace."

"Saphira said they're larger than any we've seen," Eragon remarked.

Murtagh cursed and clenched the pommel of his sword. "That explains it! They have to be Kull. The most elite of Urgals. I should have guessed that they'd be the ones to chase us. They don't ride because horses can't carry their weight - not one of them is under eight feet tall - and they can run for days without sleep and still be ready for battle. It can take five men to kill one. Kull never leave their caves except for war, so they must expect a great slaughter if they are out in such force."

Tellesa tried to imagine that. If Murtagh spoke the truth, the Kull would be a little taller than Alkris and Paltis, and almost of height with the lead Eliksni, Kiphoris. She had seen firsthand that ordinary Urgals were no match for the Eliksni, considering the body count raised during the brawl outside Gil'ead, but Kull might be a different matter. Her eyes found the Eliksni pair; they were listening in with rapt attention. They could understand common better than they could speak it.

"Can we stay ahead of them?" Eragon asked worriedly.

Murtagh shrugged. "Who knows? They're strong, determined, and in large numbers. It's possible that we may have to face them. If that happens, I only hope that the Varden have men posted nearby who'll help us. No matter how well we can all fight, we can't hold off the Kull."

"We must go. We've lingered too long already."

"How's Arya?"

Tellesa answered him. "Her fever's worse. She's been tossing and turning, as much as she's been able to at least. Her strength is fading. You should fly her to the Varden before the poison kills her."

"I won't leave you all behind," Eragon insisted. "Not with Urgals so close."

A hunting horn split the air. Tellesa scowled and shooed Saphira away. "Off with you! Quick! Before they catch us!"

The dragon reluctantly took off, shaking the trees with every beat of her wings.

* * *

The valley darkened as the hours slipped by. Day faded fast in the Beors; the mountains obscured the sun. A sharp frost snuck into the air. Tellesa's every breath raised a cloud of mist. In time, night fell, swooping over the valley like an inky blanket.

They followed along Beartooth River to its source. Eragon and Saphira eventually returned to glide overhead; a constant reminder that danger wasn't far.

"There's no way out," Murtagh muttered after a while. "I'm trapped."

Tellesa struggled to keep her eyes opened. Sleep weighed down on her heavier than any pack. "We have to go to the Varden."

"I can't!"

"Why not?"

"Fast!" Alkris hissed at them. They picked up the pace. The Eliksni were growing short-tempered with agitation, and they constantly looked over their shoulders. Tellesa trusted their senses; the Urgals were closing in.

Regardless, she continued with her questions. "What's your issue with the Varden? Would you truly rather die to Urgal blades?"

"I..."

"The Varden is our only chance. What's the matter?"

Murtagh looked at her. His breathing was uncontrolled: heavy and fast, like a panicked beast. He paused, then said with a glum tone, "You have a right to know. All of you. I... I am the son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn."

Tellesa rolled her eyes. "I thought you capable of better jests."

His serious eyes assured her that he wasn't capable of even the faintest forms of humour. "It's the truth."

"It's..." She fell silent. "You're being honest."

"I am..." His head dropped.

Tellesa thought quickly. The legends of Morzan were told across the empire. The man was infamous for his cruelty. Barring Galbatorix, he had been the most evil man in recent history.

It was hard to place that reputation with the young man before her. But one thing nagged her.

"Brom killed your father," she noted, watching his face.

Murtagh shrugged with a detached air. "Yes."

"Then..."

"You don't think... You must understand, I don't love the empire or the king. I have no allegiance to them, nor do I mean you harm."

"That's a strange tale, one I can hardly believe."

"Why would I lie?"

Tellesa nodded. "There is that. But even if you don't owe it loyalty, I must ask if you do in truth serve the empire."

"I do not," Murtagh said firmly. "If I were trying to capture or kill you all, then... then I wouldn't have helped break Eragon out of Gil'ead."

"You could be leading the Urgals to the Varden," Tellesa pointed out. She said it only for the sake of being sure; she was already decided on her course.

"I know the Varden's location now. Why would I continue traveling with you?"

"Paltis would kill you."

" _Eia_ ," the Eliksni in question grunted in a thoroughly disinterested tone. "Kill." Neither of the inhuman guards seemed all that bothered by the conversation. In all fairness, they had more important matters to worry about.

Murtagh sighed. "She would, wouldn't she?"

"No. I don't think so."

"You don't?"

"Paltis is softer than she lets on," Tellesa said, ignoring Paltis' vaguely irritated growl. "And I know you, Murtagh Morzansson. I don't know your past, and I honestly couldn't care less. I know who you are right now. You're not my enemy. Make no mistake, if you were a dedicated Imperial then I'd happily gut you here and now-"

"Noted," Murtagh mumbled.

"-but I know you're not. I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character."

"An attitude that trusting would get you killed," he remarked.

Tellesa couldn't care less. "Our world is flawed, but most people in it are decent folk. I'd like to keep believing that while I do my damnedest to kill those who aren't, and I think you're among the ranks of those who are decent."

Murtagh chuckled weakly. "You frighten me sometimes."

"Just stay as you are and we won't have any trouble."

The conversation died away as the Urgals horns rebounded through the valley with a revitalized spirit. Tellesa looked back; she expected the monsters to appear out of the darkness at any moment. Her only consolation now was that she'd begun to hear the dull roar of a waterfall ahead - exactly what they were looking for.

The forest abruptly ended and they pulled the horses to a stop. The ground had transformed to a pebble beach directly to the left of the mouth of Beartooth River. A deep lake formed where the waterfall crashed down and filled the rest of the valley, blocking their way. The water gleamed with the light of the stars and what parts of the moon peeked over the mountains. The valley was narrower, meaning that the lake stood between them and the other shore on the opposite side. At the lake's source, a broad sheet of water fell from a smooth cliff into boiling mounds of bubbling froth.

Saphira landed beside them, the sound of it barely audible above the din of the waterfall.

"We go to the falls?!" Murtagh asked nervously.

"Yes!" Eragon called back. The Rider dismounted and picked his way along the beach to the waterfall. The rest followed his lead and strode through the shallow waters by the lake's edge, pulling the reins of the terrified horses.

They were halfway to the waterfall when Alkris suddenly snarled and twirled around. Where they had been just minutes ago was soon crowded by giant figures streaming from the forest, their heavy horns curling high into the air. One of the Kull gestured at Saphira, and it spoke to its brethren in a speech so guttural that it made the Eliksni tongue sound sophisticated. A part of the horde began to trek around the lake to cut off any escape on the other side, cornering them against the waterfall.

Tellesa drew her Tigerspite and took aim at the apparent leader's head, placing the red reticle on the glass sight directly between the Urgal's eyes. Her fingers squeezed around the trigger. The noise of the shot rebounded off the valley walls. The Kull's head snapped back with incredible force, and even if the bullet hadn't pierced its skull it would have died from a broken neck.

The shot proved to be what broke what little calm remained. With a bellow Saphira threw herself towards the Urgals. She dived at them, and they tried to scatter but she managed to catch one in her talons and carried him up into the air, tearing him apart with her claws and fangs. When he was dead, she looked for a second victim.

The smaller group of Kull continued on their way unabated, and they reached the other shore in little time. Tellesa cursed under her breath - now they were truly trapped.

A wave of arrows flew at Saphira. Most of them bounced off, leaving no visible wounds, but those that hit the thin membranes of her wings tore right through. The dragon fell back and dove into the lake, submerging herself completely. The Urgals eyed the dark waters nervously. One bold individual poked his spear into the depths. The water exploded as Saphira's head shot out and her jaws closed on the weapon, tearing it from the colossal Urgal's hands. Before she could grasp hold of the wielder, the other Kull poked at her snout with their own weapons. Saphira retreated and hissed angrily, beating at the water with her tail.

An object sailed high above Tellesa and landed amongst the Urgals. The monsters turned on it, but it was nothing more than a harmless cylindrical metal object. They poked at it for a moment, then turned and laughed at the thrower, Alkris. Then the object erupted in a sudden splash of lightning, hitting almost a dozen of the savages. The lightning killed them so quickly they didn't even have time to scream.

Paltis moved in front of Tellesa and none-too-gently pushed her back. The Eliksni roared at the Urgals with an unmatched ferocity, her claws tight around Tellesa's shoulder. Urgal archers took aim and fired. Tellesa winced, but the Eliksni before her shielded her. Paltis' armour held firm: not one missile pierced her grand suit of metal.

" _Da!_ " Paltis snapped at Tellesa, shoving her forcefully. She rapidly retreated to rejoin Eragon and Murtagh. The horses were going wild and bucked at their restraints, but their exhausted state meant that Murtagh could exude some measure of control over them.

"What do we do now?" He demanded.

"I don't know!" Eragon cried, searching the waterfall behind them. "Let me think!" After a brief moment he called out, " _Aí varden du Shur'tugalar gata vanta!_ "

Nothing happened. Tellesa returned her attention to the gathered Urgals. With Saphira in the waters and the Eliksni blocking the shallows, they didn't dare get close. They were more cautious now that a number of their horde had been so ruthlessly put down, and their archers didn't score any vital hits on any of the three. She hoped they wouldn't redirect their aim to herself, Murtagh, or Eragon. They didn't have any way to ward away the arrows.

Eragon shouted the same thing again. Still nothing.

"What now?! Murtagh shouted. "We can't stay here!"

The Rider looked around wildly. "I don't know! This is where we're supposed to be!"

"Why don't you ask the elf to make sure?!"

"Now?! She's barely alive! How's she going to find the energy to say anything?!"

"Well, you'd better think of something, because we can't stave off an entire army!"

"Where's the entrance?!" Tellesa asked. "We'll have to force our way in!"

"I don't... the waterfall!" Eragon exclaimed. He pointed at it. _Through_ it.

Murtagh shook his head. "We'll never get the horses through there, even if we can hold our own footing!"

"I can convince them to follow us! Saphira can carry Arya!"

The older boy scowled. "It's better than being hacked to death."

Murtagh swiftly cut Arya loose from Snowfire's saddle. Saphira, likely told by Eragon, retreated to cover them and the Eliksni followed her. The Urgals boldly attempted to close the distance, though another tossed instrument from Alkris had them scurrying back.

Eragon and Tellesa caught Arya and heaved her onto Saphira, then secured her legs in the saddle straps. The second they were finished, Saphira swept up her wings and soared over them. The Urgals howled with frustration, and their arrows sent a volley of arrows at her, but it all clattered harmlessly against her belly.

The horses tossed their heads and dashed into the thundering downpour after Saphira, likely because of Eragon. They whinnied fearfully as the water struck their backs, but they kept going through. Murtagh jumped after them.

"Go!" Tellesa shoved Eragon forwards. She turned around and called to the Eliksni, "Come on!"

As one Alkris and Paltis twisted around and ran towards her. Tellesa leapt into water once Eragon had already gone in, still clutching her gun. She closed her eyes before the cold water reached her. The weight of the falling water slammed down on her with a force that almost broke her back, and she struggled to swim through. Alkris grabbed hold of her wrist and tugged her after him; the Eliksni were, for the most part, untroubled by the elements. Their incredible resilience was beyond understanding.

Her feet found purchase on pebbly ground, and her head shot above the water's surface, gulping for air. The sounds of arrows firing made her duck and cover herself with her arms, but the missiles harmlessly passed overhead and fell into the mass of pursuing Urgals. A quick glance told her that many of the monsters had already been felled, and the others had been trapped against the lakes by the sudden appearance of new warriors - humans, by the looks of it.

A gruff voice grunted from nearby. " _Akh Guntéraz dorzâda!_ What were they thinking?! You would have drowned!"

Tellesa's head twisted around, and she was relieved to find Eragon and Murtagh still alive. Alkris and Paltis flanked her, but instead of facing the Urgals behind, they had drawn blades and watched those strangers before them.

A short, very short, man stood beside the spluttering Eragon, standing no taller than the boy's elbow. The strange man wrung water from his beard, apparently unconcerned with the battle occurring on the other side of the waterfall. He wore a jacket of gleaming chainmail, and an axe hung from his belt. A metal cap rested on his head.

Alkris growled loudly and took a step towards the dwarf. "Away," the Eliksni barked.

The dwarf, suddenly noticing the Eliksni, gave a start and stumbled back, holding up empty hands. "Gûntera's beard!"

Alkris grabbed Eragon and pulled him back. The Rider looked around, pale-faced and wide-eyed, and didn't offer any resistance.

A set of doors twelve feet tall rested on the other side of the cliff, and they had been opened to reveal a long tunnel that stretched too far to see, lit only by odd flameless lamps that glowed with a dim blue light. Murtagh and Saphira stood before the tunnel, surrounded by a mixture of humans and more dwarves. Beside Murtagh was a bald, beardless man dressed in colourful robes of purple and gold. He was taller than any other man present - and he held a dagger to Murtagh's throat.

Tellesa lifted her rifle, glaring at the bald man.

"Stop!" He ordered in a sharp, dangerous voice. "If you use magic, I'll kill your friend here. Don't think I won't know if you're drawing on it. You can't hide anything from me."

Paltis roared loudly, a noise filled with fury. It was wordless, but it promised pain upon the man as surely as any conceivable threat.

"Demon!" One of the other men gasped. All of them stared at the Eliksni

"Let him go!" Tellesa snapped.

The bald man sneered. "You're in no position to make demands."

Paltis stepped forward, her roar died away into a mix of a growl and a hiss. " _Ne sha di! Ka eh yus!_ "

"None of that!" The bald man shouted. Despite his bravado, a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. "If you say or do anything I don't tell you to, he will die. Now, everyone inside!"

"But sir-"

"Now!" The bald man retreated, dragging Murtagh with him. Paltis huffed with frustration and exchanged a look with Alkris. The male Eliksni closed his inner two eyes.

Saphira followed the bald man into the tunnel, just as the human and dwarven soldiers did. The strangers sent her nervous looks, all of them unsure and frightened of the dragon.

"What do we do?" Tellesa asked.

Eragon glanced at, desperation written across his features. "We have no choice but to follow."

"Rargh!" Paltis stormed forward. She was afforded with the same treatment as Saphira, and the soldiers scurried to move out of her way.

"Follow," Alkris growled. He dropped a hand on each of the remaining human's shoulders. "Go."

The dwarf who'd been beside Eragon seconds earlier waited for them. He eyed Alkris with a mix of caution and curiosity, and kept pace with them as they entered the tunnel. The doors swung shut behind them. Tellesa felt exposed and trapped, and her knuckles went white she was holding the Tigerspite so tightly.

**000**

Skriviks looked about the new realm claimed by Krinoks and despaired. It was one borne of desperation and savagery. A handful of islands and a single native settlement - now thoroughly destroyed - did not make a kingdom. The planet was perfectly viable for habitation, but not under Krinok's rule. Their new Kell was dead set on burning it all down.

The only positive element of their current scenario was the overabundance of raw materials in the ground. They wouldn't starve. The Servitors would get their tribute, and the Scars would get their ether. But only if Krinok shared.

Skriviks wanted to find out if he would do just that.

He stepped through the ashes of what had once been a town belonging to the resident species, exchanging greetings with the occasional Scar. They were still picking the odd piece of salvage from the ruins, even now, long after Krinok had ordered it razed to the bedrock. Servitors gathered where all the looted valuables had been piled and were freely processing the matter into ether. They warbled and cried out in their pleasant digital tones at the sight of him, hatchlings glad to see a returning parent. He offered his soft words and reassurances to them as they gathered around him - a veritable sea of revered orbs.

A pair of Skiffs screamed overhead. The Servitors, unnerved by the discord in the House's ranks, returned to their work. Skriviks carried on. He leaned on his staff as he walked; his chitin was growing brittle and his bones were old. In theory, he could live on and on, but theirs was a hard life and he didn't think he would survive more excitement. Not more falls from the sky in a powerless Ketch.

The Skiffs landed on the sandy shores of the dead town's bay and offloaded their passengers. Skriviks saw a shock of golden hair and the glow of cybernetic eyes, and it was enough to dissuade him from greeting the returning warriors. Krayd was nearly as bad as Krinok.

He found the Baron by the great floating crystal in the centre of the destroyed town, flanked by Splicers. Not Skriviks' trusted Splicers, no, they were of the downcast, those he had previously refused to teach on the basis of their savage and disgraceful pasts. They had found standing among Krinok's supporters, and now they were being groomed for Archpriesthood. Perhaps even replace him as Archon, if Krinok truly wanted to upturn the natural order.

Cables were attached to the crystal and they led to a whirring portable generator.

"This is power," Krinok muttered. "True power."

Skriviks scowled. "Ether is true power. Not useless jewels."

To his surprise, the Ether-Thief only laughed. "Ether is power, yes, but it is a desperate power. A power without true control. It is feed for thoughtless beasts. The power of this 'jewel' is fit to be the lifeblood of a great empire."

"Empire? We hardly have a House!"

The Ether-Thief made a face. "Yes, but that will not trouble us for very long. We will be strong soon."

"Mine... Kell," Skriviks spat. It hurt his pride to name the upstart a noble. "Our people need ether, not a jewel, to live. We have not the means to forge an empire. Not since before the Whirlwind. We do not have enough warriors."

"We will. Soon." Krinok turned around. His hands were stained with a layer of grey ash. "We shall use this jewel to begin productions."

"Production of what?" Skriviks pressed. He sensed, with a sinking feeling, it wouldn't be ether.

"Shanks. Walkers. Sabers. Machines of all kinds." Krinok's tone was one of giddiness. "I will have mine-empire. I demand it."

" _Velask, Krinok-Kel!_ " Krayd shouted. The recently-appointed Captain joined them by the jewel. The former Dreg-of-Kings's body was rife with cybernetics. He was more machine than eliko. Skrivik found the ritualistic practice revolting.

"How goes your hunt?" The Usurper-Kell asked in a deceptively pleasant tone. "Have you found the traitors?"

"... _Eia_." Krayd hesitated. "Tarrhis eludes me, but I found and pursued one of his Captains."

"Which one?"

"Kiphoris, the Dreamer."

Skriviks thought he remembered the name. Yes, a delirious Wolf Vandal they picked up on a Vex-eaten world a number of Riis-decades ago. It had been quite the find, and the news had spread through the House like an ether-fire.

"I know the one," Krinoks nodded. "Where is his head?"

"I... could not claim it, mine-Kell." Krayd lowered his gaze. "He too eluded me, using a storm as cover."

Krinok continued nodding. He delicately grasped Krayd's chin and lifted the Captain's head. "Would you look at me?" The Usurper-Kell softly asked.

Krayd looked up. Krinok smiled. Then he snarled and, with a frightening display of violence, gouged out one of Krayd's eyes with his ash-covered claws. The Captain screamed.

Skriviks froze in place, only able to watch. Krayd's screaming continued until Krinok pulled back and held up the dimmed blue orb for a better look. "It looks healthy," Krinok noted, closing his inner pair of eyes. "I do not understand the issue. You can see, yes?"

"Yes," Krayd whimpered, kneeling on the ground. Tears and blood ran down his face from the empty mess of a socket. "I... I can see."

"Then how did you miss him? Is Kiphoris wilier than you? Are you inept?"

"The... storm almost brought us down. I've never known such weather." Krayd bravely returned Krinok's gaze. "I apologize, mine-Kell. The error is mine. I will not make the same mistake again."

"See that you do not."

Skriviks was taken aback by what he saw before him. _Where is the loyalty? Where is the respect? They do not even hold themselves like noble-born!_

"Find a Splicer and let them tend to you," Krinok ordered. He dropped the eye in the dirt and stepped on it with a squelch. His attention returned to the jewel. "Leave me. Both of you."

Skriviks hissed and stormed away without looking back. He had his answer. Krinok would rather chase his ambitions than see to his own people's needs. He was right; Tarrhis was the more desirable Kell.

A pity that Tarrhis would rather gamble it all on a child still in its egg-molt.

He needed to warn the free Baron somehow. Krinok was a wrong-Kell, but he still had the means to crush his opposition. The odds of placing a true-Kell at the helm of their Ketch would only decrease in time. If the Ether-Thief desired an army of machines, it was well within his reach. The Ketch, even disabled and unable to fly, was capable of turning into a grand production assembly, but it would mean evicting families from living chambers and crippling their ether supply. They would lose Scars for Shanks, and to Skriviks, that was unacceptable.

He was no warrior. His time as a fighter was long past, but he held sway and he held permissions, both of which Krinok currently lacked. He would have to be careful, but he would rather risk his own life than see his banner trampled in the dirt like Krayd's eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Special thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	34. Du Fells Nángoröth

Formora returned to hut to find everyone in the same spot they had been in hours earlier. Ikharos lying dead on the cot, Xiān hovering helplessly over him, and Kiphoris laid back in the armchair in the far corner, shrouded over by shadows and cloak. His helmet had been removed, revealing fearsome jaws and a plume of deep blue bristles running down the centre of his skull. His eyes, all four of them, watched her every movement with an acute attention.

She didn't feel like she was in any sort of danger. When matters of life-and-death ceased to matter, Kiphoris proved himself a quiet individual capable of intelligent conversation. Every exchange was insightful, and he was the most approachable of all the Eliksni she had met since arriving at Ceunon. Though, she supposed that may have been because he was also the only one to speak the same language as her.

"I've bartered for food," she said quietly, and set a loaf of bread and a small block of goat cheese on the small dressing table. Kiphoris dipped his head graciously.

" _Ne tas ze_ ," he responded. She had learned that without his helmet he was incapable of speaking common, but his statement was a simple one, and she was making progress with learning Eliksni. Ikharos' lexicon had proven itself easy to navigate once she understood the most basic principles. ' _Ne tas ze_ ' translated as 'I/me know gift.' A method of conveying thanks.

Formora dipped her head. "You're welcome." She turned to Xiān. "How is he?"

The Ghost shuddered. "This venom isn't natural. It's paracausal. Like Light and Dark, but it isn't either. It... inhibits all other forms of paracausality. I mean, yeah, I'm making some progress, but some of this damage is beyond repair."

"So he won't recover?"

"Oh he will, just... he'll just have some gnarly scars to show for it."

Formora thought that an understatement. Ikharos' chest had been laid open by the monster in the mountain. It continued to glow with a wispy substance that, no matter what methods they tried, refused to allow itself to be displaced.

Xiān floated back. "I... I think that's the best result I'm going to get."

Formora eyed the Ghost's handiwork critically. Ikharos' condition hadn't changed all that much visually. "The venom's still there," she pointed out.

The Ghost sagged. "I've nullified it as best I could, but there are some wounds even Guardians cannot recover from. The Great Disaster was full of that." She flicked her fins agitatedly. "This rez is gonna be rough."

"How will it affect him?"

"Physically? Not much. I mean, he still has all four limbs attached, so Ikharos isn't suddenly useless, but... there really isn't any way of knowing if the venom will continue to hurt him or not."

"Bring him back," Kiphoris grunted. The Captain stood up. His helmet had been re-equipped and his eyes were trained on the Risen. "I wish to speak with him. We must exchange words. Alone."

Formora fixed the Eliksni with a stern look. "Don't kill him."

"That is not my intent."

"Traveler above..." Xiān groaned. "Quiet, both of you. Let me focus."

**000**

Ikharos knew what a resurrection should have felt like. A flood of cold air into his lungs, and a sudden feeling coursing through his limbs. This time was exactly that, but with an added twist: it felt like someone had punched a red-hot brand into his side. He gritted his teeth and shot to his feet with a yell on the tip of his tongue.

He stopped himself upon noticing that he could actually see his surroundings, and it wasn't the cave. It was a small house with walls of long-dried red mud. A colourful carpet covered the middle of the floor, and furniture was carefully placed all around. A single bunk stood behind him. He imagined that he'd been there for some time if the bloodstains were any indication.

Xiān, Formora, and Kiphoris looked back at him.

"How long?" Ikharos asked.

It was his Ghost that answered. "Two days."

"The storm?"

"It's... caught up. It's surrounding the mountains now. We can see it on the horizon." She moved closer. "How do you feel?"

Ikharos sat back on his bed. "Like crap. Better than not feeling anything I suppose. How'd we get out?"

"Kiphoris dragged you out."

Ikharos went very, very quiet, and his eyes searched out the Scar Captain. Kiphoris looked back with a guarded, grim expression. "Thanks."

The Eliksni said nothing.

Formora took the opportunity to press her own questions. "Are you in any pain?"

Ikharos shrugged. The burning sensation had receded into a dull throb, and that too felt like it was passing. "Just a bit of a..." He looked down. "Oh."

"Yeah," Xiān somberly agreed. "We managed to save you, just... not intact."

Across Ikharos' chest was a massive tri-clawed mark that bit deep into his flesh. It was already in the midst of healing over, and from the sight of it he anticipated it would most certainly scar over. That was hardly a concern; scars weren't a reason for worry. The blue glow within the wound, on the other hand, gave rise to a lump of panic building in his throat. "It's still in me. The venom's still-"

"I've stopped it from doing any harm," Xiān quickly told him. "I just can't get rid of it. It's not liquid, gas, or solid. It's a form of paracausal energy rather than anything else. A presence, not a substance. Like... like Eris' tears."

Ikharos flinched. "That's Darkness. But this isn't."

"No," the Ghost admitted. "Though it has the same effect."

"And the creature?"

"Dead. You killed it."

"Are you sure? It might be faking. It might come back."

"It was dead when we found you," Formora remarked. "Kiphoris called it a Star-Eater?"

Ikharos froze stock still. "That means..."

"It was an infant. I think we can rest easy," Xiān assured him.

Formora frowned suspiciously. "What _is_ a Star-Eater?"

Ikharos laid back. "It... Sweet Traveler, it was one of those..."

"A what?"

"I think the Awoken called it an Aphelion." He shook his head with disbelief. "That any of us survived is nothing short of a miracle." His hands shook, and he couldn't look away from the bright wound. He felt like he was on the verge of having a panic attack.

Kiphoris stepped close. "Out," he ordered.

For a mere moment Formora looked like she would argue with him but then thought better of it. She sent Ikharos a lingering look that promised more questions later on. Xiān sighed and followed the elf out the door. The sounds of what he assumed was the Inapashunna village filtered through - the laughter of children, the talking of adults, and the bleating of their animals.

"Look at me." Kiphoris growl held a tone of such authority that it surpassed the fear and unease that gripped Ikharos, and he found himself finally able to avert his gaze from his injury. It was a blast of fresh air, bringing with it a professional calm that he understood.

The Captain leaned over him, eyes bright with fury. "Listen now-me, Light-Thief."

"I told you not to call me that," Ikharos bit back. The Eliksni snarled and surged forward.

"Silence!" Kiphoris all but roared, his head inches from Ikharos' own. After a brief moment full of glares from either side, the Captain retreated a single pace, his fury undiminished. "You, _Ikha Riis pak Kirzen_ , have been welcomed into Scar-alliance by _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_. Mine-people, these Scars, do not know you. Do not know your kind. I would have liked to keep them like that, so that they never know the horror inflicted unto us by Guardians, but it cannot be helped. You have moved your way into good graces. Because you wear the Great Machine's blessings, you will be afforded much respect and standing as Scar-ally."

Kiphoris clicked his mandibles rapidly. It was a sound of anxiousness and frustration. "You command respect from mine-Eliksni. They hear your words and consider them carefully. I will now tell you this: their lives are valuable to me. They live one life, like humans and Awoken. I do not wish for them to lose those lives. I love them all, _Ikha Riis_ , and if I believe them to be in danger, I will fight to protect them." He pointed at Ikharos. "You must understand mine-meaning. If your respected standing puts them in danger, I will act."

"I'm not trying to kill them. It was-"

"Yes, Star-Eater took their lives!" Kiphoris snarled. "Revlis, Kalaker, Riilix. They were mine-Marauders. Mine-best. I knew them for so long. They were _mine-friends_! I am their Captain, but without me they look to the next noble. You are a noble. You are blessed. They looked to you. And now they are dead!"

"I didn't want them dead!"

"Your desire does not matter. Your actions matter. You did not act as you should have. If you had been one of mine-crew, I would have docked you for incompetence." Kiphoris shoved an Arc pistol into Ikharos' hands. The Risen grasped it and looked it over. It looked no different to the thousands of others he had seen before.

"What is this?" He asked in a subdued voice.

"It was with you."

Ikharos remembered, then. Terrified blue eyes, the heavy scent of blood and burning flesh, and an all-encompassing pain. He grimaced. "Riilix." He had fought with them so long that he wasn't a stranger to the sight of terrified Eliksni. Most of the time he disregarded it as unimportant as he was usually the reason for the fear, but seeing it up close in the caves was another matter entirely. "I think she saved my life," he continued. "The Aphelion held me against the wall, claws in my chest, and she attacked it with a shock blade. It turned on her."

Kiphoris' eyes dimmed. "She was brave."

"I sent the creature away, but I-I was too late." Ikharos bowed his head. "I'm... sorry. She gave me this and said something, but I don't understand-"

"Said what?"

"Ahlok?"

Kiphoris inhaled deeply and retreated across the room to an undersized armchair. "Riilix-sister.

"Aw shit..." Ikharos dropped his head into his hands. "Is she with us?"

"No. Ahlok remains with Tarrhis-host. She is young and has only recently earned her the right to grow her arms. She is not yet a Marauder." Kiphoris tone was rife with grief and exhaustion. "It is now mine-duty to ferry her these grim tidings."

"I'll do it," the Risen blurted.

The Captain's head shot up. "What?"

Ikharos weakly nodded. "It should be me."

Kiphoris appeared, for a brief moment, startled. His eyes narrowed and he gave Ikharos a scrutinizing look. After a minute he nodded right back. "So you will. But we cannot return. Our task is incomplete, and we have no way of leaving these mountains."

"Surely we can-"

"You can hear, yes? We have told you the storm has caught us. It corners us here. The Star-Eater was not responsible for it." Kiphoris went for the door. "We will make a plan, yes? Recover for now, _Ikha Riis_ , and think upon mine-words."

The Captain ducked beneath the doorframe that was certainly not built with Eliksni in mind and left. Xiān flew in after the Scar's massive shadow had disappeared and slammed into Ikharos' chest. He cupped her shell and held her close. They shared no words - only the soft pulse of emotion and thought. Ikharos closed his eyes. He wouldn't trade this for the universe. He couldn't imagine what he would do if it ever ended.

"How are you feeling?"

Ikharos jumped. "Fu-! Traveler above!"

The elf gave him a wry grin that didn't cover the concern in her eyes. She crossed her arms. "Noted. How are you feeling?"

"You asked me already. Like crap."

"That's physically. How do you really _feel_?"

Ikharos didn't say anything for a long time. "I'm... not okay. I'm not. I almost died for good. I should have died for good." He was shaking now, and the warmth of the Ghost nestling against his collarbone did nothing to stop it. "I hate this so, so much. Death doesn't scare. It isn't supposed to... But true death is different. And it's always worse in retrospective."

"You're alive now. The monster is dead. We're okay."

"No, we're not." He couldn't bring himself to look at her. As illogical as it was, he feared that if he did, she would disappear again. "Where... where were you?"

"I was-"

"Why didn't you talk to me?" He asked, desperation colouring his voice. He needed to know. "Where were you when I needed you?"

"It was eating my Light! I couldn't do anything! Ikharos, it was going to _kill_ me!" She floated up at eye level. Her fins twitched irregularly. "I'm sorry, I wasn't there, but I couldn't do anything, it was there, I..."

Ikharos let out a shuddering breath. "Psekisk. I... I don't want to go through that again."

It was a cold shock of horror to feel so mortal. He was accustomed to having power, to being immortal, and having that taken away was awful. During the Red War he'd taken it as an insult. He made the Red Legion pay for cutting him off from the Light. With the Aphelion, though, he only felt fear. It wasn't a blustering Cabal warlord whose plans were full of exploitable flaws. It was a predator of the paracausal. It naturally ate beings like him.

He hadn't felt that helpless since the Keep of Voices, and that was for an altogether different matter. He reopened his eyes. Formora smiled encouragingly. It looked remarkably unusual coming from her, but it was not unwelcome.

"You aren't as different from mortals as you would have us believe. You're hardier than anyone I've known, but you aren't invincible."

He attempted to keep his breathing slow and steady, broken only by hitches of the fast-evaporating fear. "The illusion has its purpose."

"And what purpose would that be?"

"Keeping those prone to dying at a distance." He shifted uncomfortably. Colour crept up his cheeks. He'd almost lost his cool. That wasn't supposed to happen.

* * *

_"No. You can't!" He was desperate. "I won't lose-"_

_Eris cut him off with a snap. "What I do is none of your business!"_

_Ikharos stalled. His expression hardened with cold indifference. "No. I suppose it isn't."_

* * *

Formora nodded like she understood and sat beside him. "I know that only too well."

"Oh?"

"During the time I spent in Ilirea, I came into contact with humans. It was an elven city at the time, but even then it was home to a great many of your kind-"

"Regular humans," Ikharos whispered. "My kind are those who take a bullet to the skull and get back up."

"Fine, it was home to a great many of _human_ kind. Is that satisfactory?"

"Sure. Carry on."

She groaned. "You... Anyways, it was impossible to _not_ meet them. Elven students, myself among them, actively sought them out. Humans are so different, and we were so curious. We heard so many things about humans. Some elves, though they are not common, said humans were worse than the most savage of beasts. Not true, as it turned out. We wanted to learn more. But our teachers took us all aside and told us to forget the humans. Even the human Riders among us. We would live for so very long, and the humans would not. They would grow old and die. We would carry on and bear that grief for the rest of eternity."

"I get the feeling you weren't a well-behaved student."

Formora laughed. The sound was melodious, reminding him that there was something inhuman about her. Not even the most elegant of Awoken could muster that grace. "True. I would test limits. I disregarded that advice and met with all sorts of humans. I learned from them, laughed with them, sang with them."

"They grew old and died?"

"... No." The joy in the air evaporated. "They burned when Galbatorix led an attack against the city. So many people died that day... and I am responsible for much of that death."

Ikharos didn't say anything, didn't move. He didn't know how to respond. Xiān was no help. She snuggled against his shoulder so close her fins dug into his skin, utterly oblivious to everything around her, and he was content to leave her where she was. He didn't think either of them could handle separation so soon after what had happened in the cave.

Formora regarded him curiously. "That's something I don't understand."

"What is?"

"You care about the people of this world. You threw yourself against the Cabal to free Ceunon. You're hunting a Shade to make Alagaësia a safe place. You'll put down whatever threatens innocent people... and yet I'm here, alive and well. I am Forsworn. I have admitted to slaughtering innocents. Why am I still alive?"

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. Even that hurt. "Because... you didn't want to fight? I spared you then, and I haven't found a reason to kill you since."

"But you do have a reason. There's blood on my hands. An ocean of blood."

"I've worked with meaner bastards. Hell, I'm one of them." He sighed. "The things you did were done under duress. You hadn't the ability to do otherwise. I've... done horrible things. I might do horrible things again. No Guardian is innocent, and that's never been more true than with me. Your slate is cleaner than mine. You're willing to fix this world. You are a good person. And I like to think I'm halfway decent. That's why I haven't killed you."

"I'm surprised you trust me," Formora admitted.

"I feel the same, I guess?"

"The first thing I did upon meeting you... was kill you."

"Decapitation's a quick way to go. Other people have done worse and yet I still called them friends. Lennox gunned me down... twenty times, easily, and I still worked with her on a daily basis."

"Lennox?"

Ikharos' eyes scrunched shut. _Crap_. "A good friend."

"So there _are_ people waiting for your return."

"No. She's dead. Jaxson and I have gone separate ways. Shaxx won't shed any tears if I'm wiped off the face of Sol; he's been through worse, and we aren't as close as people seem to think. Eris and I haven't talked in years. Ikora's good, but again, she'll get over it. Petra's too professional; she'll write me off as another casualty and get back to the war. Mithrax has other people to care for, and with a House to lead he doesn't have time for grief. I don't know if Variks is still alive, and I'm not sure I want to know, so... no. No one's waiting. Everything that anchored me to Earth is dead and dust."

"I'm-"

"Don't say you're sorry. You had nothing to do with it and apologies never worked." The ensuing silence was as awkward and gloomy as hell. Ikharos hated it. He made a point of changing the subject. "So!" He began with an enthusiasm he didn't feel. "We're with the Inapashunna again?"

Formora nodded. "We are. The storm prevents us from leaving the mountain range. It's too treacherous to even attempt to leave on foot, and this village is the only place for a hundred leagues in any direction with adequate shelter and drinkable water. The tribe has been gracious enough to allow us housing while you recover."

"That's nice of them."

"They're superstitious. They truly think you are a deity. Or that you will be, once you slay the beast in the mountain."

"Already slain."

"Could there be another? Something must be directing the storm?"

Ikharos attempted to shrug. One shoulder barely budged - he still ached. It had been a bad rez. "Your guess is as good as mine. I've never seen anything like this. I mean, I ran into the House of Winter in an old Venusian weather installation a hundred years or so back, but they weren't able to achieve much with it, let alone something remotely like this. There's so many failsafes and firewalls involved in that tech that pulling out a rain dance would be more likely to provide results."

"What of magic?"

"Unless this planet has been dragged into the Sea of Screams as part of Nezarec's pocket-universe, no. The power needed to direct a storm like this would be put to better use with other spells. Even teleporting our Skiff to wherever the architect of the storm wanted us would be easier. What about your end? Know anything capable of making and controlling storms?"

Formora shook her head. "Nothing that powerful. As you say, the power necessary would be immense. Using up the lifeforce of tens of thousands wouldn't even be enough." She paused. "The storm can't harm us inside the mountain. With the beast dead, the way forward might be safe."

Ikharos scowled. "I really don't want to go back in there."

She fixed him with a thoughtful look. "It frightened you."

He had no trouble admitting it. "I really don't want to chance anything like that again. I..." His head dropped. "We're doomed. I can't do this alone. I-I need help. I need a fireteam. I'm the only one who physically can kill Nezarec, but that's a slip of a chance. It's possible in theory, but in reality? I don't think I'll be able to do it."

"Are you giving up?"

He snorted. "'Course not."

"Then we don't have much choice. We have to return to the mountain."

"Not now. I can barely move."

Formora frowned. "Do your injuries still trouble you?"

"I'm not... sure." Ikharos gingerly felt the wound on his chest. It tingled, but nothing more than that. "I feel like I've fought the Cabal all over again, but the venom doesn't burn anymore."

"It's not just there." Formora reached to the side of his face, but he didn't feel the place she touched. "The beast caught you here."

Ikharos stalled. "Oh yeah. He did, didn't he?" He could remember the feeling of those phantom claws tearing through his helmet and raking down the side of his head. "Can I get a mirror?"

Xiān transmatted just that onto his lap. Ikharos brought it up and winced. It was in the same glowing state as the other wound. The scar tissue ran down his skull from temple to jaw and shone brightly. The light was both within the scar and without, an essence without substance. When he reached up to touch the injury, he felt the pressure but nothing else. The flesh was numbed. "That can't be good."

"You're still pretty," Xiān snarked, voice muffled by shoulder.

Ikharos huffed. "Har har. You're hilarious."

Formora cleared her throat. She held up something that Ikharos didn't immediately recognize. When he did, he paled and sent her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry."

She studied the hilt of the broken sword for a moment. Then she sighed and shook her head. "It's only a sword."

"Your brother's sword."

"Unless you want me to grow angry, stay silent," Formora warned.

Ikharos cut off his second apology before it could take form.

"These swords are supposed to be unbreakable!" She exclaimed, exasperated. "How in the world did you break it?"

"He's not good with weapons," Xiān interjected. "He breaks stuff all the time."

Formora scoffed. "Yes, but this is supposed to be _unbreakable_."

"The Aphelion did it," Ikharos blurted. "I stabbed it in the eye, but it didn't take kindly to it."

"I wonder why..." She dropped the hilt on the bed. "I've never heard of anything capable of snapping these in half. Nothing can break them. Nothing. How strong _was_ that creature?"

Ikharos shrugged. "It was an Aphelion."

"That's not an explanation."

"It is if you have any inkling as to what they are. The Cabal say they can savage entire worlds in the blink of an eye. We struck lucky; the one I fought was-"

"Only a hatchling, yes. Kiphoris said the same thing." Formora stared at the broken sword, utterly perplexed. "But... _how_?"

"There's a whole universe of horrors out there. We've barely scratched the surface."

"Don't remind me," Formora grumbled. "And no, before you ask, I'm not giving you another sword."

"But-"

"If you really need a blade, recover the rest of Orúm from the Aphelion and find a way to repair it. As you reminded me, it was my brother's sword. If you can fix it I can forgive you for breaking it."

Ikharos made a disgruntled sound. "That's cruel."

"That's incentive," Formora shot back. "I have no wish to remain here for the rest of my life. There's a king to kill."

"And I thought you were on my side."

"I am. That's why I'm going into those caves too."

* * *

Even without Light, Guardians recovered quickly. This occasion was no exception but, to his dismay, Ikharos' newest scars showed no sign of healing, nor did the energy within dissipate. It was dormant and neutralized, harmless in theory, but he didn't want to leave it to chance if he had any choice.

It was truly unfortunate he had no choice.

On the positive side, his Light wasn't gone. What he had originally thought of as being cut off from Light was in fact just the depleted stores of power within himself. More Light trickled in at a painfully slow rate, and he spent all of it on bringing himself back to full strength physically. He reloaded his weapons, grabbed a few pieces of Fallen equipment, and before long he was readied for another expedition into the bowels of the mountains.

The hut had turned from a quaint little house into a makeshift armoury in no time. Ikharos and Kida sorted through the weapons Xiān dropped out of their digital vault. The Frame was dead silent, working with methodical efficiency, and he chose for himself his old rifle, a shotgun, and an energy sidearm. Belts with pouches full of ammunition were tossed over his shoulders, and a pack of energy cells was clipped to his back.

Ikharos kept to his bow and Lumina. The former excelled against larger foes of paracausal origin, and the latter was useful in taking down opponents closer in size to himself. Considering what he'd faced in the caves before, he would have liked to bring a rocket launcher - his Gjallarhorn would have shred the Aphelion hatchling apart - but considering the subterranean environment they would find themselves in, he decided against it. A fired rocket would just as likely cause a cave-in as it would destroy their intended target.

In the end he picked up the restraint spiders. They had proven his saving grace in Ceunon, and he hoped to use them to the same effect again.

Formora showed up just as the sun was setting, the Sentinel shield locked against her arm and Vaeta sheathed at her hip. Her sniper rifle was slung over her back and sidearm holstered beside her sword. She was completely garbed in the military-grade body armour supplied by Scipio, topped with the Obsidian Mind helmet.

"There are people waiting for you," she said as soon as she entered. Formora jutted a thumb towards the open door. Torchlight streamed in.

Ikharos sighed. "I really hate what you've done."

She shrugged. "You did all the work."

"The dying part wasn't intentional.."

"Really? I thought it was the way you go about it."

" _She's got you there_ ," Xiān snorted.

Ikharos huffed. " _Can we go back to the part where you were concerned about me? I could really do without all the snark._ "

He walked around Formora and peeked out the door. A small crowd had gathered before the hut, with Fadawar and the old shaman at the forefront. The Inapashunna chieftain held a casing of lacquered wood and gold trim with reverent delicacy. Kiphoris stood behind the crowd, an expression of exasperated frustration in his eyes. The Captain couldn't get past the gathered tribespeople.

Ikharos had to give credit where it was due: Kiphoris was patient. More than he originally thought. The Captain evidently had a close understanding of humans, which was no surprise given that he was a former Wolf, and he treated them better than Ikharos expected. He didn't bulldoze through the crowd, though it was within his power, nor did he roar at them to move. He just waited.

"Unulunka Mulik." The shaman bowed at the waist.

"Unulunka Mulik," the people of the crowd echoed with awed whispers. Their worship was getting old very fast.

"Yeah?" Ikharos forced himself to smile as pleasantly as he could, even if he didn't feel happy about it. If Kiphoris could be patient then so could he.

"A gift," Fadawar knelt down and laid the casing onto the dusty ground. He unlocked it and, with deliberate slowness, opened it up.

The only thing inside was a rainbow-coloured feather.

To Ikharos, it might as well have been a nuclear bomb. In an instant he had his Lumina drawn and aimed at the otherworldly object. "What is this?" He demanded hotly.

The shaman spoke with sudden uncertainty. "It is our guide. A gift from the Old One, to impart upon us wisdom. It led us here, to the rich oasis of these mountains, and provided for us in times of great need. It is our purpose to return it to the Blessed of Unulunka. It is your birthright to reclaim it." He shot Fadawar a furious look. "Some thought to hoard it when it should have been given to you to help you on your noble request."

"It is my shame," Fadawar bowed his head. "I know now that it was a mistake." He winced, like it had physically pained him to keep the feather for himself. It likely had.

Ikharos kept his own eyes trained on the feather. He could sense life in it, however faint. The majority of people present were unprotected from the ontological power that dwelled within.

The ball was in the Ahamkara's court.

"What do you want?" Ikharos questioned. He sent Kiphoris the briefest of warning glances. The Captain's eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

The Wish-Dragon's response was a long time in coming. A single word.

" _... Mountain..._ " It whispered.

"Psekisk."

* * *

They all stood on the edges of the single-room hut, staring at the feather laid down in the centre. No one dared speak for fear that it would jump on their words. Ikharos almost told them that it was useless. Ahamkara only needed a stray thought to pounce on. But he didn't say anything either.

"What now?" Formora bravely asked, speaking through Xiān. The entire conversation was in Eliksni.

When nothing happened, the present Eliksni let out relieved breaths. Melkis toyed with a shock knife and balanced it on a claw. The shockshooter eyed the feather distrustfully. "Destroy it."

The feather didn't give any inclination of having heard. But it did. Ikharos could tell. He could feel it - just a faint flush of intention, like a soft breeze against bare skin.

"It didn't kill the _Iinapeshenna_ ," Kiphoris mused in his strange Wolfish accent. "Might it kill us?"

" _..._ _No..._ "

The mirrors they set up didn't shimmer. It wasn't lying.

"Death is subjective." Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "And there are far worse fates."

"Can we prevent it from attacking us?" Eldrin asked.

Kiphoris made a motion that was a cross between a nod and a shake of the head. It left Ikharos a touch confused. "Perhaps. The Awoken caged a Wish-Beast. I knew it. I met it. I did not speak with it. The Queen forbade me."

Ikharos cleared his throat. "Didn't work out for any of them. It was Riven that gave rise to Fikrul's second life and his Scorn."

The Captain growled. "Sol is a place of death."

Ikharos couldn't disagree. "Let's just hope this world is different."

"It does not feel like it," Eldrin sulked. He was still shaken up.

"Then we will make it different," Kiphoris promised. "That is the purpose I have chosen."

Formora made a sound of exasperation. "That's all very good, but what about the Ahamkara?"

"Kill it?" Melkis tossed his knife in the air and expertly caught it with another hand.

"Bury it," Eldrin advised, "in a place no one will search. Let the sands break it down to sediment."

Kiphoris hummed a tune and they all listened in for lack of anything else to do. Ikharos recognized it. Sedia had sung it in the days after she had been released from the king's curse. Finally, the Captain said, "The Awoken made an architect of their beast. They used it well. And it turned on them. Their cage of amethyst, silver, and marble was not enough to contain it, but I now know that the power of wishes is potent indeed, and our foes wield it well." He met the eyes of everyone in turn, finishing with Ikharos. "This is a war of gun, sword, and magic. We have guns and we wield them well. We have swords and we wield them well. We do not have enough magic. And that, I think, is most important."

Ikharos looked down at the rough, cracked floor. His heart was pounding. It was the sensation of a hunter having unintentionally stepped into the beast's lair. All it would take was a single misstep and he would become the hunted.

The feather knew it. If it had to die, it would not go down easy. It would not go down alone.

"You want to use it," Formora surmised. It sounded like a half-hearted accusation.

"I do." Kiphoris nodded slowly. He was cautious. Uncertain of his own course.

Formora turned to Ikharos. She deferred to him on matters that didn't belong to her world. He was, after all, a Warlock. A scholar of metaphysics and alien lifeforms.

But dragons were an unpredictable topic. Ikharos didn't study them; he killed them. Huginn, Esatos, Riven; his victims.

"If we don't do this right it will devour us," he said, giving each word great thought. His mind was guarded, but words were thoughts too. Perhaps there was something to be learned in the ignorant fear of those who didn't know dragons. "We can't leave anything to chance."

He couldn't kill it. If he did, the Inapashunna would die too. The feather held their souls in hand. All it would take was a squeeze.

And after Kuasta, after the tunnels of the Blasted Mountains, he wasn't willing to be the cause of any more innocent deaths. But that didn't mean he wanted to play a Wish-Dragon's games. If there was a third option he couldn't see it. He refused to pick the remaining two.

"Eia," Kiphoris said. "We must be wary." He inched closer to the feather. "Speak, Wish-Beast. We know you listen."

The feather remained silent.

"Do you serve Nezarec?" The Captain continued.

" _... No..._ "

"You're playing with a power beyond your control, Wolf." Ikharos crossed his arms. "Think about what you're proposing. Weaponizing an Ahamkara is impossible."

"As is returning from death," Kiphoris shot back. "I acknowledge your fear, but I do this for mine-Scars. We cannot defend ourselves from Wish-Beasts as you can. We have no witches. No bearers of Light. I will make us a shield from magic. No weapon. Only guidance."

"I wouldn't trust that guidance."

"Have we any choice? We are trapped. We are cut off. We are weakened." Kiphoris closed his inner eyes. "Three of mine-crew are dead. What else is there, _Ikha Riis_?"

* * *

_A sudden crunch and she was gone._

* * *

Ikharos set his jaw. "It's insane. It's wrong!"

"It is my decision."

"And it's your head on the line," Ikharos snapped coldly. "Don't drag me into your madness."

Kiphoris met his glare evenly. "I survived the screaming machines. I survived the place between time. I will not fall here." He redirected his focus to Formora. "I need your words so that I might bind this creature to our cause."

She tilted her head. "Bind it? With an oath?"

"Yes."

"That's..."

"Madness," Ikharos finished.

Formora shrugged. "I was going to say clever. Oaths in the ancient language cannot be broken. If we're smart about which oaths we make, then we can exploit the..." She looked between the two of them. "You both realize it's just a feather, right?"

" _Eia_."

"Yeah."

"And the feather can... help us?" She ventured

"You heard it," Kiphoris pointed at the quill still in its casing.

"I did. It talks. How does that help anyone?"

"It doesn't," Ikharos replied. "Ahamkara don't _want_ to help anyone. They only want to eat."

" _... Eat..._ "

"Shut up or I'll burn you up."

Formora looked up at the ceiling. "I don't understand what we could gain from this, but I still don't understand a lot of things, so what do I know?" She sighed deeply. "I translate the words to the ancient language, but you'll need to prepare the oath yourself. I wouldn't begin to know where to start."

Kiphoris outstretched an arm and splayed his fingers in a gesture of gratitude. "That satisfies me."

It was too much... something. Ikharos didn't know what exactly, but he couldn't stick around any longer. He stormed out of the hut and barked at Kida to follow.

* * *

Ikharos found a perch on a boulder by the mountain path. Dusk had already fallen, and with it came a quiet peace that clashed with his darkening mood.

"Fucking dragons," he growled.

Kida twitched. "Is something the matter, sir?"

 _Yes. There's a dragon I can't kill._ He didn't give voice to his thoughts.

They weren't long in waiting for company. Ikharos expected Formora, or even Kiphoris, so he was surprised when the figure to clamber up beside him was Melkris.

" _Vel_ ," the Vandal shockshooter greeted.

Ikharos dipped his head. " _Vel_."

Melkris took a spot where he could look over the entire village. He unslung his rifle and idly leaned it against his shoulder. He let out a heavy breath and slouched against the rock. "Ah, this is good. _Eia_?"

"I suppose so." Ikharos didn't want to talk to anyone.

The shockshooter chittered softly. "I enjoy this. The calm before a fight. Some find it frightening, but not me. Fighting is not in my hands. It cannot be controlled, so worrying is pointless."

"You can only go with the flow," Ikharos muttered.

Melkris nodded. " _Eia_. But sometimes the flow is broken. We do not know what will happen. You have slain the Star-Eater, yes, and that is worthy of song, but we may face more battles in the mountain. If we survive this storm, then what next? Sorcerers borne unto us from the Maw-that-Devours. Our standing is unsure. The ground we walk upon is loose."

"It's a glorified mess."

"One we cannot escape."

"Are you trying to convince me to go with the flow?"

Melkris chuckled. "Ha, if only. _Nama_ , _Kirzen_ , I agree with you. This is madness, but it is madness that might gift us an advantage."

Just like that, he felt his bad mood begin to lift. Ikharos smiled, albeit weakly, and said in English, "'Though this be madness, yet there is method in 't.'"

"What is that?"

"Nothing. Just... yeah, nothing." He breathed in the fresh, arid air and tried his best to let go of his worries, but it was next to impossible. There were so many things he had to keep in mind now. Cabal, Scars, Shades, Exos, Nezarec, Urgals, Ahamkara, and now Aphelion. He had people to protect - three hundred and ten million of them, in fact - and so many things to protect them from.

He wondered how many would die before the innumerous wars being waged were out.

* * *

It was midnight when the rest of the band caught up. Formora, Xiān, Eldrin, and Kiphoris marched at a steady pace, a pair of Shanks hovering behind them. The big Eliksni held the feather's case under one arm.

"It's done?" Melkris asked.

"It's done," Kiphoris replied. "We have a guide to show us the way forward."

"What did you make it swear?" Ikharos inquired.

"To not eat us. To not create illusions or tricks that would kill or injure us. It will not devour mine-Scars or your humans, _Ikha Riis_. It will eat what we provide for it."

"Then we best hope those oaths hold firm." Ikharos slid off the boulder. "Are all ready?"

They certainly looked ready. The Eliksni were all armed to the teeth. Their teeth were weapons too, if the fight got desperate enough.

"Ready," Eldrin said in a quiet, dangerous voice. The last Marauder was pissed. He glared at the mountain like it was solely responsible for every single sorrow in the entire galaxy.

Kiphoris laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We will avenge them."

Eldrin didn't give any indication of having heard. Kiphoris' hand fell away, and the Captain continued further up the path. Ikharos waited for Xiān to return to him and exulted in the closeness of their bond. It did wonders for his nerves.

No more words were shared. They all knew what they had to do, and though the threat ahead wasn't clear, they were all very aware that danger waited ahead. They began the hike with the impatient fury of those who sought to settle a bloodfeud and the hopeless self-realization of those who knew they were walking to their deaths.

* * *

The hike wasn't any more difficult than it had been the first time, but the sense of impending doom tricked him into thinking that path was fraught with peril. Ikharos kept looking over his shoulder, certain that another creature - Aphelion or Ahamkara - was bearing down on them, but they saw nothing save a couple of buzzards snacking on a lizard. The birds squawked at them and, when the humans and Eliksni showed no sign of stopping, took their meal elsewhere.

Cold winds pummeled them during the climb, but Ikharos paid it no heed. The low temperatures didn't bother them. The only risk was in being torn from the mountain face by determined gale, so they dug their fingers in deep.

It was early morning when they arrived at the summit of the mountain and stood before the colossal gates. The chamber lay open. Ikharos shivered. Darkness shrouded everything within from view. He didn't trust it.

"Lights," Kiphoris rumbled. The Eliksni attached flashlights to their helmets and turned them on. The beams of light cut through the gloom and revealed the empty space inside. Nothing had changed. There were no waiting monsters.

With a muttered curse, Ikharos rallied all his courage and entered the mountain. The metal floor was blanketed in a layer of dust, only broken by the tracks of humans and Eliksni. Seven had entered the mountain, but only four had left and one of them had been dragged out dead.

The elevator at the end of the room was gone. Ikharos grasped at the rusting chains and pulled them up. It didn't take long until he found where the metal had been cleanly sliced, right down the middle of a link. It looked like the handiwork of a plasma cutter. The cut was clean and smooth, and the metal around it had the clean quality of burned steel.

"What have you found?"

Ikharos wordlessly passed the end of the chain over to Kiphoris. The Captain turned it over in his hands. "This is odd," he said. "It does not explain the sound we heard."

"There's a lot here that can't be explained."

"That is true."

"Are we climbing down?" Formora asked. She sounded unhappy about it.

Eldrin walked to the edge of the elevator shaft, a coil of steel-thread rope in hand. He dropped one end off and waited.

A few metres below a barrier of bright energy activated, burning right through the rope. Eldrin pulled up what remained. The end of the rope smoked and filled the air with a bitter smell of burnt metal. The barrier deactivated.

"That's how we fell," Ikharos guessed. He leaned over the edge. "Plasma barrier. Ropes, chains, elevators of any sort, none of it will work. Whatever's here doesn't want us to have it easy."

"It didn't kill us on our way back." Formora said. "It could have. But it didn't."

"I would not like to test that again," Kiphoris growled. He looked at Ikharos and offered him a device shaped like a stake. "Can you plant this below?"

Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "So if anyone dies, it's going to be me," he grumbled.

"Death is not an end for you. It is for us," Kiphoris argued. He held another metal stake, the twin of the one Ikharos had.

He couldn't fault that logic. "Fine."

Ikharos stepped over the edge and let himself fall. The barrier didn't activate, and he was free to fall all the way down the tunnel. The ground reared up far too fast, but he managed to push what Light he had out into a glide to slow his fall. He landed not so very well, but bruised knees and skinned palms weren't painful enough to pose an issue.

He stabbed the transmat beacon into the stone ground and stepped back.

Kiphoris came through first. The Captain drew his pistols and swept the room for hostiles. He still had the damn case with him. Eldrin was second, armed with a shrapnel launcher, and he faltered upon arrival. He chittered anxiously. Melkris was next. The shockshooter, upon materialization, sniffed the air suspiciously.

Formora, Kida, and the Shanks were last. The robots were alright, but the elf stumbled to the side and lurched woozily.

"If you're going to throw up, take off your helmet," Ikharos called out.

She didn't throw up, but he could tell it was a close thing. Formora sent him what he imagined to be the evil eye, though it was hard to tell with her shaded visor, and shakily joined the Eliksni by the mouth of the tunnel ahead.

"Looks clear!" Melkris announced in Eliksni.

Ikharos summoned Xiān. "Give her a translator and link us all up."

The Ghost disappeared. She activated a small localized server and linked the radios of all those present to it. Short-range communications would be harder for their foe to jam, and they needed every advantage possible.

"Check," Ikharos said.

"Received," Kiphoris replied.

"Received," Melkris nodded.

"Received," Eldrin said in a hollow voice.

"Received," Formora said. Her message came through in a distorted, emotionless voice of a translator. It wasn't perfect, not even remotely good, but it worked on a basic level.

"She has a voice!" Their resident shockshooter chuckled. He was the only one, but that didn't bother him.

Kiphoris pointed down the tunnel. "This was where the magic began. There was an unusual light ahead."

"Blue?" Ikharos asked. "I saw it too. It disappeared when we neared it."

"When we sent a Shank in, it saw the same thing, but we did not. The Shank disappeared. It went elsewhere. Before that, a beam of Arc almost killed us." Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "It was not the Aphelion."

That piqued Ikharos' curiosity. "A beam? I tried to use Chaos Reach down the tunnel, but it didn't work." He frowned. "But you went in, right? That's how you found me."

"No. I believe the light died away at the same moment the Star-Eater perished. It must have laid the trap."

"A pocket dimension? Maybe like an Ascendent Throne World?"

"Was it?" Kiphoris asked.

Ikharos shook his head. "I don't know. You probably know more about Aphelions than I do. I mean, it makes sense. It's not weak, but it's far from invincible when young. A pocket dimension from which to ambush potential prey sounds like the perfect set up for an ontological predator. But the dimension wouldn't have been able to contain my Light."

"It made you powerless?"

Ikharos nodded. "Yes. It was eating my Light, but I've never heard of something to eat Light directly like…" His eyes widened. "That's how it suppressed my Light. Because it wasn't a suppression. It just took me elsewhere, to a place outside of this dimension. I desired to use my Light, but that was when I was under the belief I was still on Kepler. The Light coming into being in _this_ dimension…"

"Like… an Ahamkara?" Formora guessed. "They use desire, right?"

Ikharos frowned. "Maybe. Maybe not. But the bastard could have invoked the Anthem Anatheme."

"How do you know it was young?" The elf inquired.

Kiphoris answered her. "It was small. Adults are far larger. They tear apart warships to feed on the life of the crews inside. And they leave nothing behind."

"That explains why we haven't found the others."

"Yes. That explains it," the Captain quietly echoed.

Formora went quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking."

"Do not dwell on those matters, _Zeshus_. There is so much more at stake. Come, let us move on." Kiphoris waved everyone after him. "Stay together. Know who stands beside you."

"Keep an eye on each other," Ikharos added. "If there's another, just be aware that the Aphelions are capable of disguising themselves as people." In a quieter voice he said, "The last one wore Revlis like a cloak."

A nervous tension fell over the group. Ikharos almost regretted saying anything at all, but they needed to be warned. They needed to doubt, to suspect. It could be the deciding factor in the struggles ahead.

They delved deeper into the mountain and followed a path Ikharos knew. He cupped a ball of Solar Light in his hand, just like before, but this time it didn't go out. That gave him relief. There wasn't an Aphelion nearby. But there was still tunnel to cover.

They found the hidden staircase with ease and climbed down to the magnificent subterranean temple that waited beyond. It looked very different now that he could actually see. There was an army of dwarven statues, all carved so they were garbed in primitive armour of chainmail and scale. Most wore simple skullcaps, but a rare few - of statues larger than the rest - had spectacle helms.

The Aphelion's corpse was just where he killed it. And where it killed him.

"That can't be a hatchling," Formora stated breathlessly. "It's just too large."

"No." Ikharos couldn't take his eyes off the beast. "We're just small." He stepped around the corpse to get at the beast's head. The Aphelion's glow had disappeared, for the most part, and the blue blood/venom mixture had congealed into a dead grey slime. A sliver of light snuck out from its slack maw.

Orúm's blade was still in the creature's skull. With a shaky breath Ikharos grasped the end of it still poking out and pulled back. It came out with a squelch, and more grey liquid trickled out of the ruined organ.

" _Ew._ "

" _My thoughts exactly._ "

The snap had been abrupt and relatively clean. The metal wasn't cracked or shattered. In theory it would be easy to reforge the blade, but Ikharos didn't know the material Rider's swords were made out of and thus had no way of knowing how to work with it. There was the added complication of the magic attached to the weapon, which he would most certainly mess up. And, even if he managed all that, the sword would likely be a few inches shorter. It would take time to get used to.

Ikharos didn't want it to change. Orúm was completely and utterly perfect for him. It was quick, but a two-handed slash could convey as much power as any Hive cleaver. Like most weapons forged in Light or Dark, the weapon had a presence to it, but it was built of another paracausality. Regardless, it felt nice against his being, against his Light. It had a cool, soothing touch. It _belonged_ to him.

"I can't fix this," he announced. He wiped the blade down on the edge of his robes. He offered it up to Xiān. She transmatted it away.

"You better," Formora muttered darkly.

Melkris snorted. "You have been threatened, _Kirzen_."

"So I have." It was easy to get along with the shockshooter. He had a laid back attitude that, coupled with his competence as a soldier, appealed to Ikharos. He wasn't problematic like a few other companions were.

Kida pointed at the creature. "Sir. This deceased entity appears to be the origin of this cavern's abnormally high levels of radiation."

"I've warded everyone," Formora told him. "We're guarded from it." She peered more closely at the Aphelion. "It's dead... right?"

"Can you feel anything?" Ikharos questioned.

"No."

"Then it's dead."

"Perhaps not fully." Kiphoris used a sword to leverage the creature's jaw open. The light within brightened considerably, shining through the Aphelion's long crystallic fangs.

Eldrin snarled. "We should tear it apart. Make sure it will not rise again.

Melkris took a peek at the monster's mouth. "I've never seen a Star-Eater before. I wager you might carve a great trophy from this, _Kirzen_. Tooth-knives, venom darts, a cloak of its skin..."

"Problem is getting it out of here," Ikharos replied. "Even together we won't be strong enough to carry it out. Still, you might be onto something. Something good could come of this."

Formora made a sound of disgust. "You would harvest it?"

"Tear it apart," Eldrin repeated.

Ikharos ignored him and held up a hand clad in Ahamkara bone, scales, and feathers. "The best stuff always comes from the baddest of beasts. And, hey, you can't say anything."

"Why not?"

"You cut open a Nïdhwal for its heart."

She crossed her arms. "That was different."

"How?"

"The Eldunarí has its uses as a tool. It's not a hunting trophy. This creature doesn't have a... It doesn't, does it?"

Ikharos opened his mouth to say 'no, it doesn't', but he caught himself. "I don't know."

" _Elden-errii_?" Kiphoris attempted. "Would you explain it to me?"

"Wait," Ikharos looked the beast over in a new light. "If it invoked the Anthem Anathemet, like an Ahamkara or a Worm would, then… I need to test something. Hey, hand me a sword."

"My sword?"

"Yeah."

Kiphoris growled deeply. "Bah! Fine. Do not break it." He handed the blade over hilt first.

"I made no promises," Ikharos muttered. He pressed Ka'Den's activation trigger. Arc lit up along the beautiful alien blade's length. He walked to the Aphelion's side and pressed the sword in halfway, then slowly drew it across in a horizontal line. Thick grey fluid seeped out of the fine cut. Ikharos made a number of other incisions and stepped back as the flank of the best opened up. A heavy stench of copper wafted out.

There was blood, there were organs that Ikharos had never seen the like of before, and there was a bright glow from the place he expected the heart to be.

"Damn."

The others looked on with a mixture of disgust and intrigue as he cut the source of the light free of its fleshy container. Ikharos hacked and sliced until the gleam of the Aphelion's core shone brightly and he levered it out with Ka'Den's tip. The perfect sphere broke free of the fleshy constraints and rolled across the gore-covered floor, coming to a stop by the foot of a dwarven statue

"It has an Eldunarí," Formora said in a disbelieving tone. "A heart of hearts."

Ikharos shook his head. "No." He remembered lugging around something very similar. "It's the heart, sure, but this is something... something from outside our universe. A relic from another time and another reality. It's not a beast of material design. No wonder they're so dangerous."

The sphere was smooth and marble-like in appearance. It was a deep bluish colour, utterly flawless, and an energetic light shone through the shell.

" _... Heart..._ "

"Kiph, tell your dragon to shut up." Ikharos reached for the Void and delicately pushed it over the Aphelion core. He avoided actually touching it with the hungry beyond, only using the Void to cleanse the orb of the fatally venomous film of gore surrounding it.

The Captain made a sound in the back of his throat. "I am waiting for it to deliver guidance unto us."

"I wouldn't hold out hope." Satisfied, Ikharos grabbed the orb and lifted it up for a closer look. It was about the size of a soccer ball and much, much heavier. It had gem-like quality to it. Formora was only half right. No conscious life remained within, but vibrant paracausal energies still swarmed throughout the inside of the orb. They stung whenever they brushed by his Light, but it was more of an irritation than a true pain. "Yeah, just what I thought. This is more like an Ahamkara's heart than that of a Nïdhwal."

"And it is dead?"

"For now."

Formora shuffled nervously. "For now?"

Ikharos nodded. "I don't think it's actually possible to truly kill an Aphelion. It'll take time and a couple of choice victims, but this thing could be reborn in... a few centuries? Millennia? Something like that."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I'm a clever Warlock. I theorize stuff based on what I know and what I suspect." He turned the orb over. "And I suspect this might be a better investment than the feather."

" _... No..._ "

Ikharos snorted. "Thought you'd say something like that."

"I'm keeping the Wish-Beast." Kiphoris, looking thoroughly bored, turned his gaze to the other end of the chamber. "What does the heart matter? It is dead now."

"I'm sure we can use it one way or another."

"Return my sword."

"It's a nice weapon," Ikharos observed. "Here."

Kiphoris grunted his thanks and sheathed the Wolfblade. "Shall we move on? Or will we gawk at the beast further?"

"It killed them," Eldrin muttered darkly. "We should make an example of it."

The Captain clacked his fangs irritably. "Eldrin. It is dead and gone. We waste time here."

"But-"

"We will settle this oath of blood with whomever brought us here. The Star-Eater has already been dealt with, but there must be more to this mountain."

"You do not care!" Eldrin snapped. "They were-

Kiphoris lifted himself up and rolled his shoulders. He said, in a dangerously cold voice, "I feel their deaths as keenly as you. They were mine-friends too. Do not mistake my urgency for complete disregard."

"I... apologize, mine-Captain," Eldrin said with some difficulty. "My grief makes me brash."

Kiphoris harrumphed and turned about. "We dawdle no longer. Follow."

They didn't wait around. Once Kiphoris started moving, the rest of them followed.

" _It's the Ahamkara we should be killing._ " Ikharos mentally complained.

" _Kiphoris is smart. He's only doing what he believes is right. He'll come around._ "

" _Every moment it lives is a risk._ "

" _I don't like it anymore than you do. Just let him-_ "

" _Make his mistakes? He's a Fallen Captain, not a child. It's all our necks under the axe._ "

* * *

The statues lined the way to the chamber's opposite end. There were so many of them, and each one was crafted with careful attention to detail. Every link in their mail, every scale, all of it was carved with incredible clarity. The architects of the temple must have been truly talented stonemasons.

The best, by far, were the statues waiting at the end beside a wide entrance to yet another room. They were larger than any other, and from their stance and build the dwarves must have held them in high regard. One held a heavy, long-hafted axe and the other a gloriously ornate hunting bow. The first was garbed in heavy plate metal while the second wore a flowing cloak complete with a hood.

"That's Urûr," Formora said, pointing first to the archer. "He's the dwarven god of the sky and wind. And that," she pointed to the axeman, "is Morgothal, god of fire. They're said, in dwarven myth, to be brothers and the creators of dragons."

Ikharos stared at them with a sudden despair. "They're not gods."

"I know, the dwarven deities-"

"No. I know they aren't gods," he swallowed thickly, "because they're Guardians."


	35. Dead Light

The Titan's armour could have been up for debate, but the Hunter's cloak was unmistakable. Not only that, the man stood like any self-respecting Hunter would. He was lithe, lightly armoured, and poised to strike. The bow he held was elegant and decorated with flowing patterns reminiscent of Void. He had no quiver. Ikharos didn't think he would need one.

His fellow, the Titan, was clad in plate that looked to have been ripped straight from a tank and crudely reforged to fit his muscled frame. His battleaxe leaned against his shoulder, shrouded in petrified flames. Zigzags marks dotted his forearms like bolts of Arc and culminated in a spiked mass in the palm of his free hand.

"They're... like you?" Formora asked. Her voice was quiet. "Your people were here before?"

Ikharos nodded. He didn't know what to say. If there was anything to say. The statues were larger than life, but the details were so acute and the accuracy on point that their existence couldn't have been something fantasized.

Even Kiphoris was struck by the sight before them. "Lightbearers..." He whispered.

"I don't know who they are," Ikharos admitted. "But I know what they are. That's a Nightstalker. And that's a Striker." He pointed first at the Hunter, then at the Titan. "And they're certainly Risen. No wonder the dwarves worshipped them... They made dragons?" He turned to face Formora.

"It's a myth," she explained, though she seemed unsure of herself. "Gods don't exist. The dwarven gods, in any case."

"But they did exist. Only they weren't true gods." A flutter of hope burst to life in his heart. " _We might not be alone after all. The Exo was right._ "

" _Didn't he say they were dead?_ "

" _They could hold out_ ," Ikharos reasoned. " _This place is a fortress. They could keep themselves out of Nezarec's grasp._ "

A flurry of motion grasped his attention. Melkris peered down the next tunnel, wire rifle drawn and primed. "I see something!" He hissed. "Light! I see light ahead!"

Almost as one they all raised their weapons. Kiphoris afforded the statues one last cursory look before joining the shockshooter. "We cannot waste time!" He activated his pistols and sword, and briskly marched onwards. The rest of them followed suit.

The next tunnel was of higher quality than the ones before. It was carved into a hexagonal shape lined with grey stone. Ikharos, on a whim, trailed his fingers across it as he walked. Smooth didn't begin to describe it; it was like polished wood. Or a manufactured sheet of metal. The craftsmanship of the place was incredible. The idea that humans - neohumans, actually, but not magic neohumans like the Awoken - had carved it beggared belief.

There was light ahead. Bright yellow light, all-encompassing light, not the gloom or blinding flashlight glare they had in the statue cavern.

The walk to the next room didn't take long. It opened up before them, bathed in gentle lamplight. Heavy stone coffins lined the side of the room, all well preserved. The tombs were numerous, numbering in the hundreds. They were short, as if made for children - or dwarves.

Ikharos lifted the lid off one. A short humanoid skeleton rested within. The bones were thicker than those of any neohuman race he knew. "So this is a dwarf.

The dead dwarf still wore its armour. The suit of chainmail was rent at where he suspected the heart would have been. It looked like a wild beast had torn through with its bare claws.

Melkris opened up the next one. "This one has no head," he announced.

Formora frowned. "Did they fall in battle?"

"What does it look like to you?"

She peered more closely at the bodies. "Like dragon work. Dragons killed these dwarves."

Ikharos exhaled slowly. "More dragons. It always comes to dragons."

Formora sent him a disapproving look. "Dragons are victims of their own power. You cannot blame them for being as they are."

"The lights are strange," Kiphoris mused. Ikharos, glad to be free of what he was sure was a growing argument, followed the Captain's gaze. The lanterns hanging from the ceiling _were_ strange. They were flameless, but not electrical. If anything, they resembled orbs of Light.

"Werelights," Formora deduced. "Created through magic. But those are of a different kind to what we use today. Werelights of yellow are formed through an antique spell that's more costly than is necessary. Now we use those with reddish or bluish hues, which are much easier to create."

"Us?"

"The elves and dwarves."

Kiphoris made a curious sound and closed his outer eyes. "This world is full of magic."

The cavern was a glorified corridor dedicated to the dead. Fortunately for them, it was not quite as large as the previous chamber and they found themselves at the other end in little time. Like the summit of the mountain, a huge doorway loomed above them. There was a marked difference, though. The mountain doors opened at their approach. The new ones did not.

It looked like they weren't the only ones to come that way either.

"The Star-Eater was here," Eldrin noted in a hollow voice. He was stating the obvious; they could all see the glowing scratch marks in the stone. It looked like it had tried again and again to enter, for centuries on end. There was more glow than there was stone, and the doors were large enough that, if opened, Xol in all his terrible glory could slither through.

"It's bound to be envenomed," Melkris said. "Don't go near it."

Ikharos did the exact opposite - he strode forward. When he was a few feet away, he held out an empty hand and let loose a plume of Solar. The flames crashed against the door in a constant stream. The heat blasted back and utterly enveloped him, but Ikharos was determined to see it through. When his Light wouldn't allow for any more, he lowered his arm and waited for the fire to die away.

The doors remained undamaged and glowing.

Xiān snorted. " _What was that for?_ "

"I thought it was worth a try," he muttered.

A low rumble filled the air. Ikharos stepped back as the doors slid open on rusty mechanisms. The room beyond was even better illuminated than the tomb, with electrically-powered fluorescent luminaires suspended from the ceiling. They flickered weakly, but even in their depleted state they outshone the werelights.

The room was diamond-shaped. A huge monitor took up the far corner. The middle of the room was surrounded by a long draconic-serpentine skeleton, which circled like a macabre crown around a final sarcophagus. Unlike any of the other coffins, this one was carved into the likeness of what was assumedly the dead man inside. A silvered battleaxe with golden gildings was clutched in the sarcophagus' stone hands, and where the stone man's head should have been was the Lightless husk of a dead Ghost.

Ikharos' hopes faltered. One of the Guardians was already dead.

"That's Morgothal," Formora quietly observed.

Kiphoris huffed with sheer frustration. "Dead. Everything here is dead. Where is the origin of the storm? Where is the mind behind it?"

Ikharos slowly stepped over to the final tomb. The Ghost's shell was a faded orange. A dull grey shone where the paint peeled back. It's eye was empty. A crack ran down the glass. The Guardian's battleaxe, though, was in pristine condition. It looked enormously heavy, but to a Titan it would have weighed no more than a twig.

" _They're RTL_ ," Xiān said. He could feel her horror, and he could relate. It was never pleasant to behold a dead Ghost.

Ikharos nodded numbly. "Returned To Light." He sighed. "We're too late. Hundreds of years too late."

" _Thousands for them._ "

"Alone and cut off." Ikharos closed his eyes. "I don't envy that fate."

Silence reigned supreme for a small while. The others hung back while Guardian and Ghost paid their respects.

Ikharos didn't know Morgothal. He hadn't even heard of the guy until a few minutes prior. Even so, that didn't stop him from mourning the loss of the man. Every dead Guardian was something they would never recover from. It was worse when they lost Ghosts. No chance of raising a new Guardian to replace the lost Titan.

Morgothal was another potential soldier in the war against the Darkness wasted on a fringe conflict.

"Normally there'd be drinks," Ikharos mused. He spoke so everyone could hear. "Strong drinks. The kind that can make a Guardian go woozy. That's how we do our funerals. There's all kinds of little traditions between different Fireteams or Orders, but drinks are a staple." He retreated a single step. "I need a drink."

No one offered him one. He supposed that was because they didn't have any. They hadn't packed for a wake.

He still wanted that drink, though.

"The dragon was an Ahamkara," he added. Just to keep them alert. The Eliksni and Formora bristled and faced the huge horned and crested skull of the dead beast. Kiphoris didn't visibly react.

"It is truly dead, yes?" He asked.

Ikharos nodded after a moment's hesitation. "I don't feel anything."

"Why is it here?" Melkris pressed. The shockshooter relaxed ever so slightly. "Is it a trophy?"

The Warlock shrugged. "No idea."

"It is a grand trophy, if so. Your kin must have been a grand warrior."

Ikharos shrugged again. "Probably."

" _... Merenos..._ "

Ikharos ignored the disembodied voice. Maybe if he treated the feather like it wasn't even there, it might go away.

His attention wandered back to the Ghost. It would be sorely missed. There were only so many Ghosts in existence, and humanity would need every single one. He traced the fatal hole in its core. Something had cracked it open to get at the Light inside.

" _This one's been dead a long time_ ," Xiān murmured. " _There was nothing we could do. We probably hadn't even reached Russia when this guy died. We can't take it to heart._ "

Ikharos exhaled slowly. "I know, but... someone should have been here. With them. Helping them."

" _They weren't alone._ "

"So where's the Hunter?"

" _No idea. He wasn't buried. Not here, in any case._ "

Ikharos frowned. "Why wouldn't he be here? This was his friend."

" _We can only assume._ "

"We can only assume," Ikharos echoed. "I hate for it not to be the case. It would be a..." He frowned. The Ghost was warm to the touch. And growing warmer. "The hell is this?"

He expanded his mind and sent forth a tendril of willpower. The Ghost was, as he expected, empty. Or rather almost empty. A sliver of Light lay at the bottom of its broken core. Ikharos gingerly reached for it and-

* * *

_His name was Morgan_

_He laughed uproariously as he crushed a dragon's skull beneath his battleaxe. The beast gave out one last whine before it stilled. The Solar fires rushed from the Titan's weapon to claim the flesh of the Ahamkara._

_Another took its place, and Morgan graciously met it in fierce battle, bellowing joyously. All around him, on the crater-stricken mountain face, man and beast did combat. Dwarves fell by the dozens. So did the dragons._

_Morgan roared at the sky, still full of beating wings. He challenged them to take him. "Come on!"_

_"You're as bad as Gunther!" Uren accused. The Hunter wore a wide grin that offset his harsh words._

_It was hard to stop laughing. Morgan didn't think he could. "I love this!"_

_A hissing beast with bat wings and the head of an eagle swooped down to take his head, but Uren summoned his Dusk Bow and shot it out of the air. It fell screaming down onto the rocks below, where a score of dwarves converged upon it with tools of butchery clenched in their fists._

_Another, possibly its mate or just another hungry bastard, dove down after it with talons outstretched._

_"No you don't!" Morgan broke out into a spring and let loose his Light. With a single bounding leap he shot from the ground and slammed into the dragon just before it could reach the dwarves. Titan and Ahamkara smashed into the ground in a flurry of swinging limbs and flashing blades. Only Morgan rose up intact._

_He lifted his axe in the air and let loose a victorious war cry. His dwarves answered it with their own. Morgan still couldn't stop laughing. He loved this and he loved_ them.

_Something slammed down onto the ground beside him with bloodied fangs and gore-covered claws, but Morgan wasn't afraid._

_"What news?" He demanded._

_Merenos, the Unleashed bowed his crested head. "The battle to the south goes poorly. Gunther and Kelf are beset by foes on all sides."_

_Uren, when he caught up, cursed. "Burzûl! We need to make more noise!" He turned to Merenos. "What of Sindral?"_

_The dragon grimaced. "She continues to plead with Scipio to unleash the colonists still within his clutches, but the Warmind holds them tight. The seas are broiling with violence. Frames and dolphins war yet with the Wrong-Song's forces."_

_"We are spread thin!" Uren nocked another arrow of Void and took down a second foe._

_Merenos twirled about and grasped another who had attempted to sneak up on them. There was no mercy to be found in the Unleashed, and he tore his once-kin apart without a shred of hesitation._

_"What of the Harmony?" Morgan pressed impatiently. "Do they still hold to their original purpose? Do they continue to play darling mothers and fathers?"_

_"They do, though Sindral speaks with them too." Merenos let loose a river of flame. The sky was set alight. "They will not release their hold on the Enhancers or the Warriors yet. Wrong-Song will have their souls before they give us our army."_

_"Those metal-headed tossers!" Uren dropped a pair of drakes with a Void tether. They were consumed by the swarm of fighting dwarves below. "I'll take that army from their cold dead hands if I have to!"_

_A dwarven cheer echoed his words._

_Merenos presented him with a bloody grin. "Do you wish it?"_

_Uren muttered under his breath. Morgan kept laughing._

_"Where's Hezran?" The Hunter finally asked. His knife was in a dragon's throat by then, and the beast struggled with all its might to break free of Uren's deathly embrace._

_Morgan's laughter lessened. "He should be here soon. He's got our reinforcements."_

_"He needs to pick up the pace!" Uren shoved his beast off and sought out another. "There has to be hundreds of these blasted things!"_

_"All the better, aye?"_

_The Hunter flashed him a toothy smile. "All the better."_

_Screams splintered the air. The dragons above shrieked and flew and fled. The flock as a whole panicked._

_Merenos lifted his crested head. His talons kneaded the rock underfoot. "The Wrong-Song traitor reveals his ploy. He sends forth his hound, the eater of unrealities."_

_Uren stepped forth. "What is it? Another pet?"_

_A grey gateway opened in the air before them. The Broken Harmony's stench was all over it. The dwarves cried out and made space. The Risen moved to meet the it._

_A slim shape leapt through. Morgan stared at it for a handful of seconds before he utterly lost it. "Hahahaha!"_

_It was no larger than a dog. Its spindly glowing body was devoid of scale or pelt, leaving it utterly exposed. It had a whip-like tail and curved fangs, but nothing more immediate than that. Compared to dragons, it was a pitiful specimen._

_"Something's wrong," Morgan's Ghost murmured._

_He didn't listen. Morgan thundered down the mountain and fell upon the ethereal hound with axe and Arc, a roar forming on his lips._

_The hound darted away as the axehead slammed down on stone. The superheated hadium steel melted the surrounding stone and sunk deep. Morgan dragged it out and swung again. The hound dove under it, faster than he liked, and rushed in to take a bite out of his leg._

_Morgan slammed an Arc-encased fist down on what he imagined to be the beast's head. It hissed and wailed, but it did not die. Hitting it was a strange sensation. It was like punching a living mass of liquid. It had no firmness in its being._

_The hound whipped around and lashed its tail, scoring a mark across Morgan's breastplate. He spared the break in the pristine plasteel a cursory glance. The hound had almost cut right through. A glowing substance was left in its wake._

_"You little blighter!" Morgan guffawed. He grabbed the beast's tail and lugged it away. It landed on its feet, more gracefully than he expected, and spun around to hiss at him._

_Uren swept in with his knives, full of nimble rolls and sidesteps. The beast retreated quickly, but the Hunter didn't let up. He pressed in close, stabbing and slicing - with minimal effect - and cornered the hound against a boulder._

_Morgan's first warning was Merenos' sudden gasp. The second was when the hound sprung up and tackled Uren to the ground. It plunged its jaws into his neck._

_Uren didn't get back up._

_Morgan's laughter choked to a stop. It formed into a yell full of rage and worry. "NO!"_

_He bolted forwards, Merenos and dwarves at his back. Vengeance shone in their eyes. The hound, perhaps possessing a shred of common sense, jumped from the fallen Hunter and retreated as quick as it could._

_Morgan quickly looked Uren over and fell to his knees by his friend's side. "NO!"_

_Uren's eyes saw nothing, but his chest rose and fell with a steady pattern. His neck was a mess of red and bright blue. Morgan tossed his axe to a dwarf and scooped the Hunter up._

_"No desires!" Merenos whispered. The dragon looked up at the sky, still full of his former brethren. "They wait for it!"_

_The tide had turned just like that. The day lost its colours and Morgan lost his confidence._

_"To the mountain!" One of the dwarven chieftains yelled. He held his warhammer aloft. "Raise shields!"_

_The dwarves moved as one. Morgan was soon surrounded by short, stocky warriors who all looked like they were drowning in armour. They were stubborn bastards, each and every one of them, and fearsome when roused. Why the Harmony would designate them as simple labourers was beyond his understanding._

_Blocky, rectangular shields of iron and steel were raised. The dragons waiting above dove down with renewed bloodlust. Merenos, and those few others who followed him, bounded into the air to meet them._

_It was a slaughter on both sides, but Morgan couldn't find it in him to care. He hurried back to the mountain with Uren in his arms, an escort of fifty half-sized warriors around him. The march was hard and merciless, but they couldn't wait. Uren's lifeblood leaked from his neck drop by drop, and his Ghost helplessly flew around Morgan's head like an angry insect._

_At last, the entrance to his fortress loomed ahead. The doors stood open and the guards beckoned them on._

_Dwarves, dragons, and Risen stumbled inside. One of the enemy shapeshifters attempted to slip in after them, but it was quickly torn limb from limb by Merenos and another dragon. The heavy stone doors closed behind them. They shook moments later; the swarm had caught up. And everyone outside was dead._

_"The inner sanctum!" The same dwarf from earlier pulled on Morgan's elbow. "Go, now! I will hold them!"_

_Morgan regarded the dwarf grimly. "What is your name?"_

_"Gurnáz."_

_The Titan dipped his head. "Thank you, Gurnáz."_

_A massive snout shoved him onwards. Merenos glared at him with knife-thin slit pupils. The dragon bared his boar tusks. Morgan needed no convincing. They left Gurnáz with most of the remaining dwarves and took to the elevator._

_They raced inside. They kept going and going until Uren's Ghost begged them to stop. "I can't feel him!" The little Light cried out. "I can't feel him!"_

_Morgan tenderly laid his brother-in-arms down on the cold cave floor. "He's dying..." He realized. He was terrified. He hated being terrified. Morgan cupped the side of Uren's face. "No..."_

_The Hunter's breaths came in short and weak. His pulse dimmed to an alarmingly slow pace._

_The Titan's hands shook. "Heal him!"_

_Uren's Ghost blinked rapidly. "I-I can't! My Light isn't working!"_

_"What did it do?!" Morgan roared. "What did it do to him?!"_

_It had killed Uren. Morgan knew that now. He despaired and raged like never before. He swore vengeance, he swore a massacre, he swore agony without end. Then, with a jolt, he saw the path ahead of him._

_He met Merenos' gaze. The crested beast leaned forward with ravenous attention. His fellows, the rest of his free-dragons, chittered and cackled excitedly._

_"I wish..." Morgan began, "that Uren can be healed."_

_The bleeding stopped. Time practically froze as Uren's breath hitched and grew louder. Stronger. Morgan's own strength began to fade. The Arc within him lost the will to fight against his control._

_Morgan sighed with sudden exhaustion. "I wish..."_

_A bang echoed down the tunnel from behind them. A short clamour of roars, screams, and metal clashing came after it. Then... nothing._

_The Titan assumed a fighting stance. "You!" He pointed to one of the last dwarves. "Take Uren and get out of here! All of you! I will hold them!"_

_His own Ghost shook her shell. "You won't make it!"_

_Morgan sent her a smile fraught with regret. "No," he agreed. "But that changes nothing. Go with them."_

_"I'm not leaving you!" She persisted. "Never in a million years!"_

_He stared at her. "You'll die too."_

_"I don't care."_

_His laughter found its way back to him. "I suppose that's the way it should be. So be it." He turned to the dwarves. "Go! All of you! Go north! The forest will hide your tracks!"_

_"We will guard him with our lives," the lead dwarf vowed. His soldiers echoed the statement. There were no more words to be had. Two of them grabbed the unconscious Hunter's arms. The small band marched onwards into the darkness of the caves. The dragons went with them._

_All but one._

_"You should go," Morgan said._

_Merenos' grinned evilly. "But you are not done. Make your desires reality."_

_"I wish… I wish that this war will not end with me. With us."_

_The dragon's head thrust forward. For a split-second Morgan suspected that he would die, ripped apart by the dragon's fangs, but he only felt the soft kiss of searing flames. He flinched and held up his hand. A swirling symbol had been burned into his palm, right through the plasteel gauntlet._

_"It shall not," Merenos promised. They laughed together. They were still laughing when Nezarec's dragons found them._

* * *

Ikharos stumbled back, breathing hard. Claws encircled his arms and shoulders, but they were the Eliksni claws. Not Ahamkara talons.

Strange how _that_ was a comfort.

"What happened?" Eldrin asked urgently. Ikharos heard the crackle of Arc weapons powering up.

He didn't answer. Not immediately. He sought out Xiān. She had fallen, but Formora had been quick enough to catch her. The Ghost slowly blinked.

"Did you see that?" Ikharos whispered.

"Yes." She rose, unsteadily, into the air.

"See what?" Formora asked, brow furrowed.

Ikharos closed his eyes and fell back to the nullscape. When his breathing had calmed to a slow, steady pace he said, "Memories. _Their_ memories."

"Their?"

"Morgothal. And his Ghost. And..." He pointed to the huge skeleton. "His dragon."

"His dragon?" Formora's eyes went wide. " _His_ dragon?"

"I think so. Or maybe it was the other way around, and the Ahamkara owned him instead. That sounds more accurate, actually..."

"Are you alright, _Kirzen_?" Melkris asked.

"Probably, I just..." Ikharos trailed off. He could see the shockshooter and Marauder both.

The Eliksni who steadied him huffed and quickly let go. "Just what?" Kiphoris inquired. There was a hint of reluctance in his voice.

"Nothing," Ikharos. He shook his head.

"You saw their memories?" Formora sounded more than a little intrigued.

"Yeah. Data hidden within Light." He pointed at the dead Ghost. "All that was left of her."

"And?" She accepted it more readily than Ikharos would have expected. Most other foreign concepts he had introduced to her had been quickly challenged fiercely. This was unusual from her.

"There was a war."

"The Supernatural War, right?" Xiān said, uneasy laughter flickering in her eye.

"There were a lot of dragons." Ikharos stared at the silent Ahamkara skeleton. The skull grinned right back. "Most of them were Nezarec's... but not all. Some of them were with the Guardians."

"Why?"

Ikharos shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." He paused and tried to collect his thoughts. "Nezarec wanted them dead. He sent his dragons to kill them. When that didn't work, he used the Aphelion."

"And it killed them?"

"It wounded one. Urûr. Morgothal and the dwarves who followed them carried him to safety. Morgothal died, but... he saved his friend by making a wish."

" _... Just as you can, O couriers mine..._ "

"I swear, if you don't shut it up I will!" Ikharos snapped.

Kiphoris surprised him. Rather than argue, he shook the casing and said, "You will be quiet. Your standing is precarious. Do not test our mercy."

The Ahamkara didn't say anything else. The silence was glorious.

The Scar Captain looked around. "I see nothing else. The room is empty. No one is here."

"No one has been in a very long time." Xiān had given up on any attempt at a joke. She nestled in the crook of Ikharos' neck. "Maybe not since they were buried."

"The dwarves buried them." Formora wandered closer to the tomb. "But why was the Aphelion here? Why did it try to claw its way inside?"

"I'm not sure," Ikharos admitted. "I honestly couldn't tell you. There's nothing here that could-"

Melkris gasped. "The screen!"

Ikharos twirled about. The monitor had lit up a bright white. It stayed blank for only a few moments. Letters, in big bold black, slowly printed out across the pale glass canvas.

_Seventh of Six, Light in hand,_

_Fist full of death,_

_His name is Gvîsthrun._

_Vrron vren, knurlan!_

_In the temple by the river, he must say his name,_

_And thus he will be bade enter._

_Dominion must be held,_

_And the tides kept at bay._

_One of war,_

_One of strife,_

_Another must be made._

_Beware the nights,_

_O vengeance mine._

Ikharos read through it a dozen times. The twelfth read made no more sense than the first.

"What does it say?" Melkris tilted his head.

Kiphoris recited it in Eliksni. He utterly butchered the words Ikharos assumed were dwarven. The Guardian spared the Captain a curious look. Kiphoris caught it and asked, "What?"

"You can read?"

The Scar huffed. "Of course! What use would speaking a language be if I cannot read it? I'm no savage, _Kirzen_ , as much as you would like to think it."

"I never said..." Ikharos quietened. He sighed and returned his attention to the monitor. "What does _vrron vren_ mean?"

"Enough war," Formora translated. Her voice was hushed with stunned awe. "This is incredible."

Kiphoris growled, rage simmering beneath the surface. "There is nothing here. No technology, no orchestrator of the storm... nothing. Just this."

Eldrin took that moment to explode into wordless roars and snarls. He bellowed and screamed at the screen, promised every death possible to whomever stood behind the words, and generally acted pissed off.

Ikharos slowed his breathing in an effort of calming himself. His own mounting anger was close to erupting, leashed only by a thin line of restraint. He wanted to strangle whomever dragged them to the mountain and set him against the Aphelion. It was something beyond forgiveness. He would bear the scars of the Aphelion fight for the rest of his lives. He was keen to return the favour.

"Maybe there's another tunnel." Formora glanced worriedly at Eldrin. "Something we missed."

Kiphoris shook his head. "The way leads here." He glared at the monitor. At whomever was behind it.

Ikharos frowned. "Wait... No, there must be another tunnel. There were others. I saw them through... through Morgothal's Ghost. He sent Urûr and a few dwarves to leave via another tunnel."

"Where?"

"I don't know. I didn't see. Morgothal remained to cover their escape. That's... how he died."

Xiān twisted her fins. One of them dug painfully into Ikharos' skin. "They went for a second exit, though. How does another exit help us?"

Ikharos shrugged, jostling the Ghost. "You never know. What about the message? Can we trace it?"

She flew off and gave him a dirty look. "I can try, but this tech is weird. The hardware might even be of Harmony make." She paused. "Yeah, I don't know. The signal came from an external source, but the signature is decaying. It's like trying to follow a trail of decomposing bread crumbs."

"Lovely imagery," Ikharos muttered. "So... nothing?"

"And... gone. Trail's out of reach. Just let me sort this jumble out. I've recorded the signature." Xiān flew around his head. "The source is hidden, but if I can get a reading, we might be able to triangulate the energy presence later. We can find where the message was sent from."

"Only if the storm lets up," he complained. "We're still stranded here."

"Hey, I didn't drag us here." She headbutted him. "I'm going to need a few hours with this. Do something in the meantime. Like explore."

Kiphoris nodded gravely. " _Eia_. That is our next task. I hope it is not as fruitless as this."

The Warlock sent the Titan's grave one last lingering look. He wouldn't exactly call it fruitless. _Informative, more like._

"Xiān," he said. "Get a picture of the message. If it's coded, we can decipher it later."

"Already done."

* * *

" _Seventh of Six, Light in hand_ ," Ikharos recited. " _Fist full of death, His name is Gvîsthrun. It's a Lightbearer, that's for sure, but who?_ "

" _I'm more focused on the fact that there are six Risen on this world and we've only found the remains of one. Fireteams look after their own, even in death._ "

Ikharos didn't forget that, he just chose not to think about it. None were so familiar with death as Risen. Only Ascendant Hive came close, but neither of the two were on speaking terms with the other. Despite the familiarity with being left bereft of Light, Guardians could be as foolish as ordinary humans when it came to fallen friends. Perhaps even more foolish. The lengths a Guardian would go to save or honour a friend eclipsed anything a mortal could do.

After all, Saint-14 was alive and Osiris was, without a doubt, involved in that. Or so he'd heard; Ikharos hadn't been to the city in years. Those gates were barred to him. He only heard the hearsay from Guardians who made it to the Reef.

Guardians who died a true death were not exempt. Funerals weren't outrageous affairs like Awoken interments were, and more quaint than humans sendoffs (usually), but that wasn't to say that nothing was done. There were some ceremonies, of course, but those were usually reserved for the big-name Vanguards or famous Titan heroes. The dead were put to rest and left in peace. Any who dared intrude on that would find themselves on the receiving end of a Guardian's wrath.

He was no stranger to death, but the act of saying goodbyes to a Fireteam member was not one Ikharos had experience with. Lennox's passing had begotten a funeral, yes, but that analogy didn't work. There wasn't a body left to bury. If there had been, Ikharos would have fought tooth and nail to keep the grave clear of scavengers day and night, be they Fallen, Hive, or human. He wouldn't have allowed anything to sully her legacy. He wanted to defend her memory to his dying breath.

Even if all he had was a knife to go by. The knife was more important than anything else he owned. Because it was _hers_.

The rest of the Guardians wouldn't have abandoned their friend to an old tomb and leave him be for thousands of Kepler years. They would have kept vigil. Fireteams were as close to family as Risen could get, and those families were close-knit.

" _This entire planet is weird_ ," Xiān grumped. She flew alongside him as they retraced their steps through the statue room. " _So the other Guardians aren't here. We received a strange message with dwarven words in it. There's no sign that whatever created and directed the storm outside was here._ "

" _Why do you think that is?_ "

" _I don't know._ "

" _Let's guess._ "

Xiān chuckled. " _I do like guessing._ "

" _I know. So make one._ "

" _They're all dead, and this is a ploy of Nezarec to trap us while he rallies his servants into a killsquad._ "

Ikharos nodded. " _That's a good guess. It might even be true._ "

" _Might? More like probably._ "

" _If the storm was Nezarec's doing, we'd be dead already._ "

" _Maybe he doesn't want you dead. Maybe he wants to recruit you. Like that Exo did._ "

" _Then he'll be in for one hell of a surprise._ "

* * *

The moment they reached the rough rock tunnel that preceded the dwarven temple, they stopped in place and looked at Ikharos.

"That way?" He cautiously pointed to the left.

Kiphoris peered down the tunnel. "That is a dead end."

"Oh."

" _Eia._ "

He pointed forwards. "How about there?"

"That is a wall."

"Is it?"

"It is."

"Ah." Ikharos nodded gravely. "It's just hard to see."

Kiphoris groaned. "You do not know where the other tunnel is."

"I never said I did."

The Captain sighed. "That does not help us in-"

An electrical buzz filled Ikharos' ear and reverberated around the inside of his helmet. He flinched. It was obscenely loud. " _Oi!_ "

" _Not me!_ " Xiān quickly responded.

Kiphoris suddenly tensed, and his soldiers followed suit. They glanced at one another in silent surprise.

"Javek?" The Captain hesitantly asked. He must have received a reply, because his inner eyes widened and his outer pair closed. " _Eia_? This is good. This is very good! Can you... Do so immediately!"

"What-?" Formora began, but a sudden outburst of Eliksni babble from the resident shockshooter cut her off.

" _Eia_!" Melkris crowed. "We will hunt again!"

Eldrin didn't look happy.

Kiphoris turned to them and said, in the happiest tone he'd worn since arriving to the Blasted Mountains, "Communications have resumed. Javek reports that the storm is lifting."

Ikharos' heart soared. Elation flushed in. "That works."

* * *

The bruised clouds on the horizon drifted apart into clumps of rain-filled fluff, but the storm wasn't the only obstacle. The Skiff still bore scars from their last run in with the elements. Most of it had been quickly repaired, but then came the tedious task of soldering steel plate over where the lightning had melted through.

"If we leave it open, it will catch moisture," Calzan explained. "And the moisture will freeze once we reach a significant altitude. And if the tail takes too much damage from the ice, we will lose control and fall from the sky."

"It would be an unseemly end," Ikharos agreed. "How long?"

"As long as it needs to. Do not rush me!" The pilot irritably snapped.

The news was disappointing, but it hardly put a dent in the good mood that permeated everything. The ability to communicate once more with the rest of Tarrhis' Scars was a blessing as far as the Eliksni were concerned. The moment radios were back in order, Kiphoris immediately began sending back datapackets to his Baron. Ikharos had no say in what information the Scar noble was privy to, but he didn't pay that much mind.

His own spirits had sunken when he realized that, even without the storm, what lay ahead was far from clear cut. Especially since they still couldn't reach those Scars who'd accompanied Tellesa. They either wouldn't or couldn't respond, and Javek's machines couldn't place their location.

He was free to move, but now he had no idea where to begin.

Tarrhis' reply had come in quick. Kiphoris was to leave a tracking beacon by the mountains. The Scars would, in time, return and either tear the place apart out of spite or break it down for salvage. Ikharos didn't know if there was anything to salvage from stone. But if they tried to raid Morgothal's tomb, they would answer to him. He didn't need to know the man to want to defend his remains from raiders, and he made that explicitly clear.

The Fallen didn't say anything to that. He expected they were judging the pros and cons of what raiding the tomb would entail. In the end they decided that making an immortal enemy over a monitor and a dead Ahamkara wasn't worth it. They didn't put it exactly like that, but that was what Ikharos understood it as.

He retreated back to the hut lent to him by the Inapashunna when dawn began to filter through the gloom of night. Someone had been by to deliver foodstuffs. Ikharos decided to make a pleasant breakfast for himself that was long overdue. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in a very long time. Not since before Kuasta's fall.

"And rations don't count," he said aloud, knowing his Ghost was listening in.

The selection of foods he had at his disposal wasn't all that varied, but he made do. A few exotic fruits he sliced up and put onto his wooden plate as a side dish. He fried the mutton and seasoned it with the herbs and spices supplied by the Inapashunna. Finally, when the food was almost readied, he brewed a pot of tea.

The door slammed open just as he sat down for his meal. Kiphoris struggled in, exhaustion clear in his four glowing eyes.

"You don't look great," Ikharos idly commented. "Tea?"

"Yes please." The Captain collapsed into his favourite chair. He took a whiff and narrowed in on the steaming food. "And perhaps more."

"Mine," Ikharos said possessively. He procured a second delicate cup from a shelf and poured in the dark liquid. It had a soothing, pleasant scent. The Captain graciously accepted. He removed his helmet and sipped.

"No milk?" Ikharos asked, aghast.

Kiphoris eyed the jug of goat's milk distrustfully. "No."

Ikharos sniffed it testingly. "Oh. I see what you mean."

"See? Not smell? Are your senses broken?"

"Are you seriously going to correct me on that?"

Kiphoris hid his bared teeth behind a porcelain cup. "Yes."

Ikharos scoffed half-heartedly - more for show than anything else. "Oh, you smarmy bastard."

He sipped his black tea. It was bad. No sugar, no milk, and it scalded his tongue. It matched the conversation - not quite comfortable. But it had the potential to be.

Ikharos tried to work on that, if only to shut Xiān up. She wouldn't stop chattering in his ear. "Have you ever actually seen a wolf?"

Kiphoris paused. His razor-sharp fangs dripped tea. His mandibles shivered thoughtfully. "No," he admitted at length. "But I have heard them described. It is an apt name for mine- _Mraskilaasan_. I can see the resemblance."

"There are wolves here. On this world."

"Are there? I look forward to seeing them." There was a pause only broken by the clatter of knife and fork. Kiphoris eyed the food in a hungry, obvious manner. Eventually he said, "I will trade you."

"I'm hungry, I'm eating, you're not messing with that."

"I wouldn't take it all. Only half."

"Do you remember me saying ' _I am hungry_ '? Because I am."

Kiphoris ignored him and leaned forward. "I will trade an ether bale for some food."

"What would I even do with ether?"

"Drink it."

"I prefer wine."

"Drink with wine."

 _That_ caught Ikharos' attention. "With wine? Just mix them together?"

" _Eia._ "

"Is it good?"

" _Nama_ ," Kiphoris said, his eyes flashing. "It is great."

Ikharos weighed it over. "We have no wine with us."

"We will find some in the future. I could requisition some from mine-Scars, if what we seized from the human city remains."

With a sigh, Ikharos divided his meal into two. Just to be petty, he handed Kiphoris the platter with marginally less food. He felt a strange mix of guilt and childish satisfaction after that.

"I better get that ether," he muttered.

Kiphoris nodded vigorously. He devoured all that was set before him so quickly that when he finished, Ikharos had barely set into his own meal. The Captain enviously looked on, but he refrained from demanding more.

Ikharos didn't like being so closely watched. He gave into the guilt and tossed Kiphoris a fig. "Stop looking at me," he snapped without much heat.

The Eliksni snorted. He broke the fig open with his claws and lapped eagerly at the flavour inside.

When the food was gone and tea was abandoned - because Ikharos could only stomach so much of it - they set the platters aside and started speaking in halted attempts at conversation. Nothing lasted long. The strained silence always returned.

Their talk inevitably turned to the caves. To what they found. And what they gained.

"We know now that something sentient brought us here," Ikharos said in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "But I don't know why. And what do we have to show for it?"

Three dead Marauders, one dead Aphelion, one dead Guardian and one dead Ghost. It left them very, very dissatisfied. They were both fighters; they wanted to find comfort in the bloodletting that accompanied vengeance.

But big glass monitors didn't bleed. Thus the dissatisfaction.

"When we find them, we should kill them," Ikharos said in a casual voice behind an intention that was everything but. Just to put it out there.

"Agreed," Kiphoris replied in a similarly disinterested-but-actually-curious tone. Ikharos looked at the Scar Captain. Kiphoris looked at the Warlock.

"Alright." Ikharos nodded.

Kiphoris returned the gesture.

Progress.

Then Formora burst through the door, a crumpled letter clenched in one hand and a glowering Fadawar in tow. A pale white bird - a dove - was perched happily on her shoulder. It was unusually calm.

"I found them," She said in a grave tone. "And they're in trouble."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Special thanks to Nomad Blue for editing


	36. Farthen Dûr

_ \- Three days prior _

The room was elegant and large enough that a Kell could stand at full height. Human buildings weren't usually built like that. Alkris assumed it meant that the man behind the wooden desk was important and powerful enough to live in such luxury.

Unlike practically every soul they'd encountered in the mountain, he did not flinch and gape at the sight of the Eliksni. Alkris narrowed his inner eyes. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing. Fear had its purpose.

Alkris clicked his mandibles as he and his charges were marched forwards by the hairless human. The Marauder had arrayed himself between the unpleasant man and Paltis, who made clear her desire to tear out the human's throat. Alkris didn't blame her; he found the human just as distasteful, but they couldn't begin making enemies. Not with their own humans exposed.

The man waiting for them was noteworthy for appearance alone. He dressed in fine, though not overly fancy, clothes in the form of a tapered red and gold vest over a purple shirt. His scalp was bare of hair, but he wore a thick black beard over his jaws. His eyes bespoke of both intelligence and power. He looked like a noble.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and booming, full of confidence. "Welcome to Tronjheim, Eragon and Saphira." His eyes settled on another member of their party. "And you too, Tellesa. Please, seat yourselves."

There were only three chairs and none of them large enough for the Eliksni. Alkris and Paltis stood on either side of Saphira, hands drifting close to holstered pistols. Their swords and knives had been seized - in a manner they would not soon forget or forgive - but the humans didn't see arcarms or even Tellesa's rifle as weapons. Even if they had, to not shackle the Marauders showed how much they underestimated the threat Eliksni posed.

If Kiphoris gave them the order, they could bring the entirety of the hidden mountain city crashing down.

Ajihad snapped his fingers. Alkris tensed. A man stepped out from behind a staircase to the side which led to a balcony. He was bald and practically identical to the other man who had escorted them to the room with little-human Orik. Paltis hissed.

"Your confusion is understandable; they are twin brothers," Ajihad explained with a small smile.

Alkris tilted his head. Twins were such a strange concept. He had only heard of it from rumours, commonly of Cabal and their young, but he had always written it off as an exaggerated tale. Litter-mates who were identical in every conceivable way? Preposterous.

And yet evidence to the contrary stood before him.

"Odd," he muttered.

The Twins retreated under the stairs and regarded everyone else impassively. Ajihad settled down in a high-backed chair behind his ornate desk. He pressed his blunted fingers together and stared at the human children. Eragon in particular. After some time one of the Twins was beckoned back. The hairless human whispered something Alkris couldn't catch, but it evidently made sense to Ajihad. He nodded and turned his attention to Murtagh.

"You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dûr because the Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Tellesa. I understand that there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."

"You wouldn't trust me anyway," Murtagh said bitterly.

Ajihad's expression, once neutral, morphed into something Alkris considered worrisome. The Marauder softly trilled in the back of his throat. Paltis responded in kind. It went unnoticed by the humans.

"Though it's been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear... I know that voice." Ajihad stood, chest swelling. "It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up."

Murtagh warily complied.

"Remove your shirt," Ajihad ordered. With a shrug, Murtagh pulled off his tunic. "Now turn around." The young human did so, allowing the light to fall upon his scarred back. "Murtagh," Ajihad breathed.

Orik grunted in surprise.

"Did you know this?!" Ajihad thundered, turning to the Twins.

They bowed their heads. "We discovered his name in Eragon's mind, but we did not suspect that this boy was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred-"

A seething hiss came from Saphira. Eragon stared at his friend in disbelief.

"And you didn't tell me?!" Ajihad raised a hand to ward away their excuses. "We will discuss it later." He switched his focus back upon Murtagh. "You still refuse to be probed?"

"Yes!" Murtagh snapped. He let go of his tunic and allowed it to slip back down. "I won't let anyone inside my head."

Ajihad leaned forward. "There will be unpleasant consequences if you don't. Unless the Twins can verify that you aren't a threat, we cannot trust you. Without that verification, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I'll be forced to-"

" _Nama_!" Paltis snarled so ferociously even Saphira flinched. Alkris' mate strode up to the desk and bared her fangs. "You will not!" She said through her glossator. "We protect the humans. Is our duty. Kiphoris-Captain order it." She flexed her claws. "Their safety is our life-duty. Watch your words. Threat will bring fight."

Ajihad stonily met her gaze for so long that he could have passed off for a statue. Finally, he bowed his head. "My apologies. I haven't quite afforded you the attention I should have. You are not human, or of any manner of creature I have seen. Nor heard of. Who... what are you?"

Alkris stepped beside his mate and tried to be the voice of reason. "Eliksni."

"Eliksni." Ajihad tried the word like a delicacy. "I imagine you are not native to Alagaësia."

" _Nama_."

" _Nama_?" The human frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means no," Tellesa said quickly. She was watching the exchange with a guarded expression. "They're saying that Murtagh is under their protection."

Ajihad nodded slowly, his frown deepening. "I... see. I assume, then, they do not comprehend the significance of Morzan's own son arriving to us now, of all times. And in the company of a Dragon Rider no less."

"Your mages already checked Eragon," Tellesa argued. "Do they say he's a spy?"

"No, they do not. But that does not mean Murtagh is not."

"You don't know if I'm a spy." Her eyes narrowed. "You know my name. How?"

Ajihad's gaze softened. "Rendan would commonly engage in correspondence with the Varden. He was a dear friend of mine. And a friend to you too, if I am not mistaken. You are someone we know."

"I vouch for Murtagh." Tellesa looked like she dared him to argue. "And so does Alkris and Paltis."

"I'm afraid that doesn't change anything."

Alkris had had enough of listening in. "Humans are safe here? Eragon, Tellesa, Saphira safe?"

Ajihad bowed his head. "As safe as they can be. On that you have my word."

The Marauder nodded. "Good. We leave. With Murtagh."

The Varden's leader paused. "Again, I'm afraid that's not possible. What if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix? He will extract every secret from your minds, no matter how strong you may be."

Paltis bristled. "Humans cannot fell us."

"Be that as it may, humans are not all that Galbatorix employs. And to face a trained Rider is an entirely different matter. We cannot take that chance. It would endanger all we have built here."

"Will you hold me prisoner forever?" Murtagh demanded.

"No," Ajihad said. "Only until you let yourself be examined. That goes for the three of you. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dûr from your mind before you leave. We won't risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix's hands."

"Mind-Breakers!" Alkris recoiled. His eyes snapped to the Twins. "No! Our minds are not open! If you dare, Scars will fight you!"

"Scars?" Ajihad leaned back.

Tellesa sent Alkris a warning glance. "The Eliksni aren't alone. These two are of a small hunting party we encountered outside Dras Leona. Their leader, Kiphoris, told us that his people have arrived in numbers. They call themselves the Scars."

Ajihad remained silent for some time, digesting the information. "Then..." He scowled. "This is a difficult position you put me in."

"They need not be our enemies," Tellesa pleaded. "They saved us from the Ra'zac. _And_ they helped us rescue Eragon from a prison in Gil'ead. They hold no love for the empire."

"And yet my hands are tied. I am as much a prisoner of duty as the Eliksni. I cannot bid anyone leave without the safety of the Varden and the dwarves assured."

Paltis made to further argue their point, but Alkris shushed her with a soft bark. He faced the human, closed his inner pair of eyes, and said, "Not enemy. No open mind. We will wait for Scars to come."

Ajihad flashed an apologetic look. "I can reserve for you a room and allow you free reign of the city as the dwarves allow it, but I cannot let you leave. Not now." He refocused on Murtagh. "As for you... I admit, I am not surprised by your choice, though I had hoped otherwise. Guards!"

The door behind them opened and warriors rushed in. Alkris forced himself to remain still.

"Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely," Ajihad ordered, pointing at Murtagh. "Post six men by the entrance and allow no one entry until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either."

The warriors surrounded Murtagh. The young human wore a stony, resigned expression, and he did not give voice to his complaints as he was briskly marched out.

Alkris exchanged a worried glance with Paltis. Their charges were now in the hands of the Varden. Their task was complete, but now they were, in essence, prisoners. They could cut their way out, but that would put Murtagh at risk. And neither of them were willing to do something that would put one of their humans in trouble.

"Psekisk," Paltis swore.

"Psekisk," Alkris agreed.

* * *

_ \- Present _

"It still won't work!" Paltis snarled. "Accursed machine!"

Alkris kept his distance and his silence. She was fuming. It was always best to give her some space when she was fuming. It was a pity their room wasn't large enough for that.

The little humans - what Eragon called dwarves - had set aside a room for them in the mountain city. It was bare and mostly unfurnished. A bed of soft cotton and straw rested in the middle. A basin of clean, clear water stood off to the side. The floors, walls, and ceiling were of smooth grey stone

Alkris loved it. It was bigger than their cabin on the Monoliks-Syn. And it was genuinely upsetting that they had to leave it.

Or rather, leave it when their radio decided to work with them. It frazzled and hissed, utterly refusing to connect with the other comms nodes held by their brethren. They had no idea where Kiphoris, Tarrhis, or any other Scar Loyalists were. They could be anywhere on the planet.

"Don't hit it!" Alkris quickly blurted. The raised claws slowly lowered, and Paltis' burning eyes found him. Alkris shuffled back. He realized he had made a grave mistake. "I, ah, I must-"

There was a knock at the door. Alkris practically leapt for it and threw it open. The dwarf on the other side looked momentarily surprised. The squat human looked agitated, and he spoke in quick, but broken, strings of humanish. "Quick! Must go Ajihad! Must go!"

Paltis brushed past Alkris, scowling murderously. "Speak clearly!" She demanded.

"Ajihad summons you! Very important!"

The Marauders exchanged a glance. Alkris shrugged: what was there to lose? Their radio refused to cooperate, and while in the mountains they were a guest of both the Varden and the little people who stood no higher than his knee.

How the dwarves survived long enough to carve out their own kingdom was beyond him.

* * *

The city was straight forward as settlements went. The tunnels were confusing at first, but the Eliksni quickly figured it out by tasting the airways that filtered through the many corridors and passages located throughout Tronjheim. The scents never lied. They guided the Eliksni to all the places that mattered: feast halls and living quarters.

The dwarf led them through a maze of twists and turns to Ajihad's office. The city was practically deserted; humans had a fixed time for sleeping that they found difficult to resist. It had been much the same with the children, and it was just as prevalent in their cousins the dwarves.

They met Eragon and Saphira on the way there. Alkris clicked a greeting to them - they hadn't seen all that much of each other after arriving in the mountain city. Which was a shame. The children had become dear to him, dragon included, and he didn't want to cut off those ties.

"Human," Paltis said in her usual haughty tone, but Alkris didn't miss the sliver of warmth.

It was more than he got. Lucky human.

They met Orik, the heir of the little-humans' Kell, outside Ajihad's study. "Come, the others are waiting," he said.

A pair of guards opened the door for them. Ajihad stood behind his desk, inspecting a map with a troubled expression. Arya, the quick-human, was there too, along with Tellesa and another human. The Varden's leader looked up. "Good. You're all here. Meet Jörmundur, my second in command."

Jörmundur resembled something akin to a warrior, but he possessed none of the Kell-strength that Ajihad did. Nor did he hold himself as a proud Baron. No, he looked more like a dutiful Captain. But a human Captain. No Eliksni Captain would be that diminutive size.

They all acknowledged each other and turned to Ajihad. The human bore a bleak expression. "I've roused the nine of you because we are all in grave danger. About half an hour ago a dwarf ran out of an abandoned tunnel under Tronjheim. He was bleeding and nearly incoherent, but he had enough sense left to tell the dwarves what was pursuing him: an army of Urgals, maybe a day's march from here."

Everyone began talking at once. Alkris and Paltis exchanged nervous looks.

"Quiet!" Ajihad raised his hands. "There is more. The Urgals aren't approaching _over_ land, but _under_ it. They're in the tunnels. We're going to be attacked from below."

"Why didn't the dwarves know about this sooner?" Eragon asked. "How did the Urgals find the tunnels?"

Orik bellowed. "We're lucky to know about it this early! There are hundreds of tunnels throughout the Beor Mountains, uninhabited since the day they were mined. The only dwarves who go in them are eccentrics who don't want contact with anyone. We could have just as easily received no warning at all."

It seemed a major mistake to Alkris. If the tunnels couldn't be watched, then they were a security risk. Someone should have collapsed them. A flaw in the defense like that would lead to a Captain's docking.

Ajihad pointed to a spot on the map. "This is where the dwarf claimed to have come from."

"Orthíad!" Orik exclaimed. "It's an ancient dwelling of ours that was deserted when Tronjheim was completed. During its time it was the greatest of our cities. But no one's lived there for centuries."

That was even worse than leaving open tunnels. Foes could use the city as a forward camp and garrison troops there. Alkris could scarcely believe what he was hearing. And these were supposed to be warriors!

"I suspect that Orthíad is being called Ithrö Zhâda. That's where the Urgal column that was chasing Eragon and Saphira was supposed to go, and I'm sure it's where the Urgals have been migrating all year. From Ithrö Zhâda they can travel anywhere they want in the Beor Mountains. They have the power to destroy both the Varden and the dwarves.

"How many? Are there Imperials with them?" Tellesa asked quickly.

Ajihad shrugged. "We're unsure on both fronts. If there are Imperial soldiers with them, we will not survive. But if there isn't then we may stand a chance. Neither Surda or the elves, or any of our allies, can help us at this late hour. Even so, I sent messages to all of them with news of our plight. At the very least they won't be caught by surprise if we fall." He wiped a hand across his brow. "I've already talked with Hrothgar, and we've decided on a course of action. Our only hope is to contain the Urgals in three of the larger tunnels and channel them into Farthen Dûr so they don't swarm inside Tronjheim.

"I need you, Eragon, and you, Arya, to help the dwarves collapse extraneous tunnels. The job is too big for normal means. Two groups of dwarves are already working on it: one outside Tronjheim, the other beneath it. Eragon, you're to work with the group outside. Arya, you'll be with the one underground; Orik will guide you to them."

"Why not collapse all the tunnels instead of leaving the large ones untouched?" Eragon asked.

Orik rubbed his hands together. "Because that would force the Urgals to clear the rubble, and they might go in a direction we don't want them to. If we do cut ourselves off, they could attack other dwarven cities - and we would be unable to assist."

"There's another reason," Ajihad said. "Hrothgar warned me that Tronjheim sits on such a dense network of tunnels that if too many are weakened, sections of the city will sink into the ground under their own weight. We can't risk that."

"What about the city? Will there be no fighting there?" Tellesa inquired.

Ajihad nodded. "We can't defend Tronjheim's entire perimeter - it's too big for our forces - so we're going to seal all the passageways and gates leading into it. That will force the Urgals out onto the flats surrounding the city, where there's plenty of room for our armies. Since the Urgals have access to the tunnels, we cannot risk an extended battle. As long as they are here, we will be in constant danger of them quarrying up through Tronjheim's floor. If that happens, we'll be trapped, attacked from both the outside and inside. We have to prevent the Urgals from taking Tronjheim. If they secure it, it's doubtful we will have the strength to roust them."

"And what of our families?" Jörmundur asked worriedly. "I won't see my wife and son murdered by Urgals."

Ajihad sighed. "All the women and children are being evacuated into the surrounding valleys. If we are defeated, they have guides who will take them to Surda. That's all I can do, under the circumstances."

Alkris tilted his head. Why wouldn't the human females fight? Surely the Varden needed the extra soldiers.

"Is Nasuada going as well?"

"She is not pleased, but yes."

There was a pause.

Then, "I'm not going." Tellesa narrowed her eyes. "I'm fighting."

"I cannot-" The Varden's Kell began.

"I'm fighting," she repeated. Her tone brooked no argument.

Alkris nudged Paltis' arm. "Sounds like you," he muttered in Low Speak.

His mate snorted. It drew all attention to them

"What of you?" Ajihad asked. "What will you do?"

Alkris took a while to formulate an answer. In the end, he pointed at Tellesa and Eragon. "Not safe."

"We fight." Paltis added in a reluctant, albeit determined, voice.

" _Eia_ , we fight."

The humans looked between them with apparent confusion. "Just like that?" Tellesa inquired. She wore a strained, nervous smile.

Alkris closed his outer eyes. "We fight together, yes?"

"Alright..."

Ajihad cleared his throat. He sent the Marauders a grateful nod. "You've already done so much, safeguarding Eragon, and now this... I owe you my thanks."

"Only Urgals," Paltis grunted. "No trouble."

Orik chuckled. "Right about that."

Ajihad squared his shoulders. "The Urgals will arrive in a matter of hours. We know their numbers are great, but we must hold Farthen Dûr. Failure will mean the dwarves' downfall, death to the Varden - and eventual defeat for Surda and the elves. This is one battle we cannot lose. Now go and complete your tasks! Jörmundur, ready the men."

* * *

They watched the mass exodus of humans from Tronjheim with disapproval. Alkris couldn't understand why the Varden would waste such a large fighting force. It was important to safeguard children, yes, but the children did not need that many potential warriors to accompany them.

Humans were strange.

At least not all of them were foolish.

Tellesa accompanied the Eliksni as they made their way to where the Varden and dwarves were assembling their army. Without the use of explosives or any ranged weaponry, barring bows, their chance of persevering over the Urgal threat was not quite as high as Alkris would have liked. But no matter his doubts, he had a duty to perform. He would see that the children would be left in safe hands, just as Kiphoris ordered.

The human soldiers were silent, garbed in crude metal armours and bearing weapons of dubious quality. Many had swords, but more had only spears or axes. Archers tested their bow strings in the back. Alkris would have traded the entire archer division for a handful of shockshooters.

The dwarves were better equipped than their taller cousins. Their armour was heavy, and it almost looked like they were being squashed by all the steel they wore. Most held mattocks or axes, along with thick roundshields stamped with the crests of their clans.

A messenger came for them and invited the Eliksni to a tent where food awaited. They didn't pass up on the offer.

Eragon, Saphira, and Tellesa were already there. The food was just bread, water, and a few strips of dried meat, but the Eliksni partook of the meal graciously. They used the opportunity to ingest a cup of ether each. Alkris exulted in the ice-cold feeling of sustenance filling his limbs. It made him strong.

They watched with interest as the dwarves began fitting armour to Saphira. It looked, and smelled, like plain steel, but it was better than nothing at all. It moved with her, which was good, and didn't offer any difficulties around her joints. It was nowhere near Eliksni quality, but it would have to do.

The army split up soon after, dividing itself into three battalions. Each battalion repositioned before collapsed tunnels, where anyone arriving could climb out. The plan wasn't foolproof, but it could work in Alkris' mind. Provided the number of Urgals was within reason.

The Marauders did not accompany the soldiers. Paltis found Tellesa, who was about to trail after a group, and simply said, "Follow."

The human appeared perplexed, but she acquiesced all the same.

"What is it?" She asked. Neither Alkris or Paltis answered until they found a good spot - an outcropping of rock that had view of almost the entirety of Farthen Dûr. There, Alkris turned around and unclasped a sword sheath from his hip. He held it up with as much gentleness as he could muster and offered it to Tellesa.

"Wait..." She stepped back. She looked at him with uncomprehending eyes. "What is this for?"

"Fighting," he answered bluntly.

"Yes, I get that, but... it's your sword!"

Paltis groaned. "Draw weapon."

After a moment's hesitation, Tellesa drew the Imperial sword. Alkris unsheathed his shock blade, activated it, and sliced right through the human weapon. The steel blade clattered to the ground.

"Ah," Tellesa nodded. Understanding dawned on her.

Alkris sheathed his weapon and offered it again. "Take."

She took it. He unslung his wire rifle and clambered up the rock. If the worst happened and it came to a close-quarters fight, he still had another sword. Alkris felt better knowing that his charges had some measure of protection.

**000**

Eragon greeted Tellesa and Orik as they arrived. The dwarf wiped his brow and said, "All the men and dwarves are on the battlefield. Tronjheim has been sealed off. Hrothgar has taken charge of the battalion to our left. Ajihad leads the one to our right."

"Who commands this one?" Eragon wondered aloud.

"Jörmundur." Orik sat with a grunt and placed his axe down beside him.

Saphira nudged Eragon. " _Look._ "

His hand tightened on Zar'roc when he saw Murtagh, helmed and carrying a dwarven shield and his half-and-a-half sword, approaching.

Orik cursed and leapt to his feet, but Murtagh quickly said, "It's alright; Ajihad released me."

"Why would he do that?" Orik demanded.

Murtagh smiled wryly. "He said this is an opportunity to prove my good intentions. Apparently, he doesn't think I would be able to do much damage even if I did turn on the Varden."

Eragon nodded slowly. The revelation of Murtagh's heritage still shook him, but he had gradually come to terms with it. He wasn't quite comfortable with the fact, but he saw no more reason to judge Murtagh harshly because of it. Tellesa had been instrumental in that; it didn't seem to bother her at all that they were in the company of one of the Forsworn's heirs.

Besides, Murtagh was an excellent and merciless fighter - exactly whom they needed during the coming battle.

"How do we know you're not lying?" Orik asked suspiciously.

"Because I say so," announced a firm voice. Ajihad strode into their midst, armed for battle. He put a strong hand on Eragon's shoulder and drew him away where the others could not hear. He cast a critical eye over Eragon's armour. "Good, Orik outfitted you."

"Yes... Has anything been seen in the tunnels?"

"Nothing." Ajihad leaned on his sword. "One of the Twins is staying in Tronjheim. He's going to watch the battle from the dragonhold and relay information through his brother to me. I know you can speak with your mind. I need you to tell the Twins anything, _anything_ , unusual that you see while fighting. I'll also relay orders to you through them. Do you understand?"

The thought of being linked to the Twins filled Eragon with loathing, but he knew it was necessary. "I do."

Ajihad paused. "You're not a foot soldier or a horseman, nor any other type of warrior I'm used to commanding. Battle may prove differently, but I think you and Saphira will be safer on the ground. In the air, you'll be a choice target for Urgal archers. Will you fight from Saphira's back?"

Eragon had never been in combat on horseback, much less on Saphira. "I'm not sure what we'll do. When I'm on Saphira, I'm too high to fight all but a Kull."

"There will be plenty of Kull, I'm afraid," Ajihad said grimly. He straightened, pulling his sword out of the ground. "The only advice I can give you is to avoid unnecessary risks. The Varden cannot afford to lose you."

With that, he turned and left.

Eragon returned to Tellesa and Murtagh and hunkered down next to Saphira. The four of them waited in silence just like the hundreds of warriors around them. Light from Farthen Dûr's opening high above waved as the sun crept past the rim of the crater.

Eragon turned to scan the encampment and froze, heart jolting. About thirty feet away sat Arya with her bow on her lap, a quiver of arrows lying beside her. Though he knew it was unreasonable, he had hoped she might accompany the others out of the mountains. Concerned, he made his way over. "You will fight?" He asked.

"I do what I must," she said calmly.

"But it's dangerous!"

Arya's features darkened, and Eragon knew he had said something wrong. "Do not pamper me, human. Elves train both their men and women to fight. I will not run away at the first sign of danger. I was given the task of protecting Saphira's egg... which I failed. My _breoal_ is dishonoured and would be further shamed if I did not guard you and Saphira on this field. You forget that I am stronger with magic than any here, including you. If the Shade comes, who can defeat him but me? And who else has the right?" She narrowed her eyes. "Tellesa stays. Will you not attempt to convince her?"

"She would not hear of it." Eragon stared at Arya helplessly, knowing she was right. "Stay safe."

"It is my wyrd to be here," the elf murmured. "The debt must be paid."

He abruptly retreated to Saphira. Murtagh looked at him curiously. "What did she say?"

"Nothing."

Wrapped in their own thoughts, the defenders sank into a brooding silence as the hours crawled by. Farthen Dûr's crater was thrust into darkness, save those places where reddish lanterns glowed or fires heated barrels of pitch. Eragon examined the links in his mail to pass the time. Orik repeatedly ran a whetstone over the blade of his axe, periodically eyeing the edge between strokes; the rasp of stone on metal was irritating. Tellesa repeatedly loaded and emptied her rifle with shaking hands. Murtagh just stared into the distance.

They were joined at some point by Paltis. The Eliksni crouched down beside them, not saying a word. Her eyes pierced through the darkness like tiny, furious stars. She chittered to herself in her native Eliksni tongue.

"Where's Alkris?" Eragon found himself asking.

Paltis pointed behind them, into the distance, to a boulder jutting out of the ground like a shattered fang. Eragon could scarcely make out the glowing eyes.

"Far from the action," Orik grunted.

Tellesa smiled. "Not quite," She said cryptically.

Occasionally, messengers ran through the encampment, causing warriors to surge to their feet. It was always a false alarm. The men and dwarves became strained; angry voices were often heard. Paltis didn't budge. Not once did she move. Her eyes were trained on the tunnel ahead.

The worst part about Farthen Dûr was the lack of wind - the air was dead, motionless. When it grew warm and stifling and filled with smoke, there was no reprieve.

As night dragged on, the soon-to-be battlefield stilled, silent as death. Muscles stiffened from the waiting. Eragon stared blankly into the darkness with heavy eyelids. He shook himself to alertness and tried to focus through his stupor.

Finally Orik said, "It's late. We should sleep. If anything happens, others will wake us."

Murtagh grumbled, but Eragon was too tired to complain. He curled up against Saphira, using his new shield as a pillow.

His dreams were confused and disturbing, full of horned beasts and creatures with metal skulls. Over and over he heard a deep voice ask, "Are you ready?" But he never had an answer. Plagued by such visions, his sleep was shallow and uneasy until something touched his arm. He woke with a start.

"It has begun," Arya said, voice full of sorrow. The troops in the encampment stood alertly, weapons drawn. Orik swung his axe testingly. Arya nocked an arrow and drew back the string.

"A scout ran out of the tunnel a few minutes ago," Tellesa explained to Eragon. Her rifle was fitted against her shoulder. "The Urgals are coming."

A minute dragged by. Then another... and another, another, another. Without taking his sight off the tunnel, Eragon hoisted himself onto Saphira's saddle, Zar'roc in hand.

A man cried," I hear them!"

The warriors stiffened; grips tightened on weapons. No one moved. Somewhere nearby, a horse nickered nervously.

Harsh Urgal shouts shattered the air as dark shapes boiled upward in the tunnel's opening. Almost instantly Paltis and Tellesa opened fire, startling those nearby. The devastation left in the wake of the projectiles was immense; Tellesa's weapon ripped through flesh and armour both while Paltis' burned it so thoroughly only ash remained.

At a command, cauldrons of boiling pitch were tilted on their sides, pouring their contents into the tunnel's hungry maw. The monsters below who didn't perish in the crossfire howled in agony and flailed their arms. A torch was tossed in. An orange pillar of greasy flames roared up, engulfing the Urgals in an inferno. Sickened, Eragon looked across the other two battalions and saw similar fires by each.

More Urgals soon stamped the pitch down and clambered over their burned breathren. They clumped together, presenting a solid wall to the men and dwarves. Behind the palisade at the lip of the tunnel, the first row of archers pulled on their bows and fired. Eragon sheathed his sword and used his own bow to add to each volley. Arya did the same. The arrows, along with the barrage kept up by Telles and Paltis, tore right through the Urgals.

The line of beasts wavered, threatening to break, but they covered themselves with their shields and weathered the attack as best they could. Those shields did little to stop bullets or the lances of lightning tossed from Paltis' weapon, but they managed to ward away the arrows. The archers continued firing, yet the Urgals continued to stream onto the surface at a ferocious rate.

Eragon was dismayed by their numbers. _They were supposed to kill every single one?_ It seemed an impossible task. His only encouragement was that he saw none of Galbatorix's troops with the Urgals. Not yet, at least.

The opposing army formed a solid mass of bodies without end. Tattered and sullen standards were raised in the monsters' midst. Baleful notes echoed throughout Farthen Dûr: Urgal warhorns. The entirety of the Urgal mob charged forth with savage cries.

They dashed against the rows of stakes, covering them with slick blood and limp corpses. A cloud of black arrows flew over the barrier at the crouched defenders. Eragon ducked behind his shield and Saphira covered her head. Arrows rattled harmlessly against her armour.

Momentarily foiled by the pickets, the Urgal horde milled with confusion. The Varden bunched together, waiting for the next attack. After a pause, the war cries were raised again as the Urgals surged forward. The assault was bitter. Their momentum carried the Urgals through the stakes, where a line of pikemen jabbed frantically at their ranks, trying to repel them. The pikemen held only briefly, as the tides of Urgals could not be stemmed, and they were soon overwhelmed.

With the first lines of defense breached, the main bodies of the two forces collided for the first time. A deafening roar burst from the men and dwarves as they rushed into the conflict. Saphira bellowed and leapt toward the fight, diving into the whirlwind of noise and blurred action.

With her jaws and talons, Saphira tore through an Urgal. Her teeth were as lethal as any sword, her tail a giant mace. From her back, Eragon parried a hammer blow from an Urgal chief, protecting her vulnerable wings. Zar'roc's crimson blade seemed to gleam with delight as blood spurted along its length.

From the corner of his eye, Eragon saw Orik hewing Urgal necks with mighty blows of his ax. Beside the dwarf was Murtagh, his face disfigured by a vicious snarl as he swung his sword angrily, cutting through every defense. Then Saphira spun around, and Eragon saw Arya leap past the lifeless body of an opponent. Paltis had drawn her own blades, laced with lightning, and cut through Urgals with effortless finesse and frightening brutality. Tellesa was beside her, with an Eliknsi blade of her own in hand, and though she had none of the speed or strength of Paltis beside her, she was nonetheless skilled and determined. A handful of bodies already rested by her feet.

An Urgal bowled over a wounded dwarf and hacked at Saphira's front right leg. His sword skated off her armor with a burst of sparks. Eragon smote him on the head, but Zar'roc stuck in the monster's horns and was yanked from his grasp. With a curse he dived off Saphira and tackled the Urgal, smashing its face with his shield. He jerked Zar'roc out of the horns, then dodged as another Urgal charged him.

" _Saphira, I need you!_ " he shouted, but the battle's tide had separated them.

Suddenly a Kull jumped at him, club raised for a blow. Unable to lift his shield in time, Eragon uttered, "Jierda!" The Kull's head snapped back sharply. Four more Urgals succumbed to Zar'roc's thirsty bite, then Murtagh ran up beside Eragon, driving the press of Urgals backward.

"Come on!" he shouted. They rushed toward Saphira, who was embroiled in a mass of enemies. Twelve spear-wielding Urgals encircled her, needling her with their lances. They had already managed to prick both of her wings. Her blood splattered the ground. Every time she rushed at one of the Urgals, they bunched together and jabbed at her eyes, forcing her to retreat. She tried to sweep the spears away with her talons, but the Urgals jumped back and evaded her.

The sight of Saphira's blood enraged Eragon. He rushed ahead with a wild cry and stabbed the nearest Urgal through the chest, withholding nothing in his frenzied attempt to help Saphira. His attack provided the distraction she needed to break free. With a kick, she sent an Urgal flying, then barreled to him. Eragon grabbed one of her neck spikes and pulled himself back into her saddle. Murtagh raised his hand, then charged into another knot of Urgals battling men of the Varden.

By unspoken consent, Saphira took flight and rose above the struggling armies, seeking a respite from the madness. Eragon's breath trembled. His muscles were clenched, ready to ward off the next attack. Every fiber of his being thrilled with energy, making him feel more alive than ever before.

Saphira circled long enough for them to recover their strength, then descended toward the Urgals, skimming the ground to avoid detection. She approached the monsters from behind, where their archers were gathered. Before the Urgals realized what was happening, Eragon lopped off the heads of two archers, and Saphira disemboweled three others. She took off again as alarms sounded, quickly soaring out of bow range. They repeated the tactic on a different flank of the army. Saphira's stealth and speed, combined with the dim lighting, made it nearly impossible for the Urgals to predict where she would strike next. Eragon used his bow whenever Saphira was in the air, but he quickly ran out of arrows.

Soon the only thing left in his quiver was magic, which he wanted to keep in reserve until it was desperately needed. Saphira's flights over the combatants gave Eragon a unique understanding of how the battle was progressing. There were three separate fights raging in Farthen Dûr, one by each open tunnel. The Urgals were disadvantaged by the dispersal of their forces and their inability to get all of their army out of the tunnels at once. Even so, the Varden and dwarves could not keep the monsters from advancing and were slowly being driven back toward Tronjheim. The defenders seemed insignificant against the mass of Urgals, whose numbers continued to increase as they poured out of the tunnels.

The Urgals had organized themselves around several standards, each representing a clan, but it was unclear who commanded them overall. The clans paid no attention to each other, as if they were receiving orders from elsewhere. Eragon wished he knew who was in charge so he and Saphira could kill him.

Flashes of light reaching across the battlefield alerted him to Alkris' actions. The Eliksni was using his spot to great effect, killing off Urgals from afar. He appeared to be focusing on those close to standards, perhaps hoping that some of those kills were of an Urgal commander. He had already claimed many a victim.

Remembering Ajihad's orders, he began relaying information to the Twins. They were interested by what he had to say about the Urgals' apparent lack of a leader and questioned him closely. The exchange was smooth, if brief. The Twins told him, " _You're ordered to assist Hrothgar; the fight goes badly for him._ "

" _Understood_ ," Eragon responded.

Saphira swiftly flew to the besieged dwarves, swooping low over Hrothgar. Arrayed in golden armor, the dwarf king stood at the fore of a small knot of his kin, wielding Volund, the hammer of his ancestors. His white beard caught the lantern light as he looked up at Saphira. Admiration glinted in his eyes.

Saphira landed beside the dwarves and faced the oncoming Urgals. Even the bravest Kull quailed before her ferocity, allowing the dwarves to surge forward. Eragon tried to keep Saphira safe. Her left flank was protected by the dwarves, but to her front and right raged a sea of enemies. He showed no mercy on those and took every advantage he could, using magic whenever Zar'roc could not serve him. A spear bounced off his shield, denting it and leaving him with a bruised shoulder. Shaking off the pain, he cleaved open an Urgal's skull, mixing brains with metal and bone.

He was in awe of Hrothgar—who, though he was ancient by both the standards of men and dwarves, was still undiminished on the battlefield. No Urgal, Kull or not, could stand before the dwarf king and his guards and live. Every time Volund struck, it sounded the gong of death for another enemy. After a spear downed one of his warriors, Hrothgar grabbed the spear himself and, with astounding strength, hurled it completely through its owner twenty yards away. Such heroism emboldened Eragon to ever greater risks, seeking to hold his own with the mighty king.

Eragon lunged at a giant Kull nearly out of reach and almost fell from Saphira's saddle. Before he could recover, the Kull darted past Saphira's defenses and swung his sword. The brunt of the blow caught Eragon on the side of his helm, throwing him backward and making his vision flicker and his ears ring thunderously.

Stunned, he tried to pull himself upright, but the Kull had already prepared for another blow. As the Kull's arm descended, a slim steel blade suddenly sprouted from his chest. Howling, the monster toppled to the side. In his place stood Angela.

The witch wore a long red cape over outlandish flanged armor enameled black and green. She bore a strange two-handed weapon—a long wooden shaft with a sword blade attached to each end. Angela winked at Eragon mischievously, then dashed away, spinning her staff-sword like a dervish. Close behind her was Solembum in the form of a young shaggy-haired boy. He held a small black dagger, sharp teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Still dazed from his battering, Eragon managed to straighten himself in the saddle. Saphira jumped into the air and wheeled high above, letting him recuperate. He scanned Farthen Dûr's plains and saw, to his dismay, that all three battles were going badly. Neither Ajihad, Jörmundur, nor Hrothgar could stop the Urgals. There were simply too many.

Eragon wondered how many Urgals he could kill at once with magic. He knew his limits fairly well. If he were to kill enough to make a difference … it would probably be suicide. That might be what it took to win.

The fighting continued for one endless hour after another. The Varden and dwarves were exhausted, but the Urgals remained fresh with reinforcements.

It was a nightmare for Eragon. Though he and Saphira fought their hardest, there was always another Urgal to take the place of the one just killed. His whole body hurt—especially his head. Every time he used magic he lost a little more energy. Saphira was in better condition, though her wings were punctured with small wounds.

As he parried a blow, the Twins contacted him urgently. " _There are loud noises under Tronjheim. It sounds like Urgals are trying to dig into the city! We need you and Arya to collapse any tunnels they're excavating._ "

Eragon dispatched his opponent with a sword thrust. " _We'll be right there._ "

He looked for Arya and saw her engaged with a knot of struggling Urgals. Saphira quickly forged a path to the elf, leaving a pile of crumpled bodies in her wake. Eragon extended his hand and said, "Get on!"

Arya jumped onto Saphira's back without hesitation. She wrapped her right arm around Eragon's waist, wielding her bloodstained sword with the other. As Saphira crouched to take off, an Urgal ran at her, howling, then lifted an ax and smashed her in the chest. Saphira roared with pain and lurched forward, feet leaving the ground. Her wings snapped open, straining to keep them from crashing as she veered wildly to one side, right wingtip scraping the ground. Below them, the Urgal pulled back his arm to throw the ax.

A flash of movement swept across Eragon's vision and the Urgal was left as nothing more than another bloodied corpse. Paltis stood above it, breathing heavily. "Quick!" She snapped.

With a colossal heave of her shoulders, Saphira righted herself, barely making it over the heads of the warriors. She pulled away from the battlefield with powerful wing strokes and rasping breath.

" _Are you all right?_ " Eragon asked, concerned. He could not see where she had been struck.

" _I'll live_ ," she said grimly, " _but the front of my armor has been crushed together. It hurts my chest, and I'm having trouble moving._ "

" _Can you get us to the dragonhold?_ "

" _… We'll see._ "

Eragon explained Saphira's condition to Arya. "I'll stay and help Saphira when we land," she offered. "Once she is free of the armor, I will join you."

"Thank you," he said.

The ensuing flight was laborious for Saphira; she glided whenever she could. When they reached the dragonhold, she dropped heavily to Isidar Mithrim, where the Twins were supposed to be watching the battle, but it was empty. Eragon jumped to the floor and winced as he saw the damage the Urgal had done. Four of the metal plates on Saphira's chest had been hammered together, restricting her ability to bend and breathe. "Stay well," he said, putting a hand on her side, then ran out the archway.

He stopped and swore. He was at the top of Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase. Because of his worry for Saphira, he had not considered how he would get to Tronjheim's base - where the Urgals were breaking in. There was no time to climb down. He looked at the narrow trough to the right of the stairs, then grabbed one of the leather pads and threw himself down on it.

The stone slide was smooth as lacquered wood. With the leather underneath him, he accelerated almost instantly to a frightening speed, the walls blurring and the curve of the slide pressing him high against the wall. Eragon lay completely flat so he would go faster. The air rushed past his helm, making it vibrate like a weather vane in a gale. The trough was too confined for him, and he was perilously close to flying out, but as long as he kept his arms and legs still, he was safe.

It was a swift descent, but it still took him nearly ten minutes to reach the bottom. The slide leveled out at the end and sent him skidding halfway across the huge carnelian floor. When he finally came to a stop, he was too dizzy to walk. His first attempt to stand made him nauseated, so he curled up, head in his hands, and waited for things to stop spinning. When he felt better, he stood and warily looked around.

The great chamber was completely deserted, the silence unsettling. Rosy light filtered down from Isidar Mithrim. He faltered - _Where am I supposed to go_ _?_ \- and cast out his mind for the Twins. Nothing. He froze as loud knocking echoed through Tronjheim.

An explosion split the air. A long slab of the chamber floor buckled and blew thirty feet up. Needles of rocks flew outward as it crashed down. Eragon stumbled back, stunned, groping for Zar'roc. The twisted shapes of Urgals clambered out of the hole in the floor.

Eragon hesitated. Should he flee? Or should he stay and try to close the tunnel? Even if he managed to seal it before the Urgals attacked him, what if Tronjheim was already breached elsewhere? He could not find all the places in time to prevent the city-mountain from being captured. _But if I run to one of Tronjheim's gates and blast it open, the Varden could retake Tronjheim without having to siege it._

Before he could decide, a tall man garbed entirely in black armor emerged from the tunnel and looked directly at him.

It was Durza.

The Shade carried two swords, one being his pale blade marked with the scratch from Ajihad, and the other a pristine single-edged blade that was as tall as he was and gleamed silver. His dark helmet was richly decorated with a red horsehair plume, like a general's, and a long snakeskin cloak billowed around him. Madness burned in his maroon eyes, the madness of one who enjoys power and finds himself in the position to use it.

Eragon knew he was neither fast enough nor strong enough to escape the fiend before him. He immediately warned Saphira, though he knew it was impossible for her to rescue him. He dropped into a crouch and quickly reviewed what Brom had told him about fighting another magic user. It was not encouraging. And Ajihad had said that Shades could only be destroyed by a thrust through the heart.

Durza gazed at him contemptuously and said, " _Kaz jtierl trazhid! Otrag bagh._ "

The Urgals eyed Eragon suspiciously and formed a circle around the perimeter of the room.

Durza slowly approached Eragon with a triumphant expression. "So, my young Rider, we meet again. You were foolish to escape from me in Gil'ead. It will only make things worse for you in the end."

"You'll never capture me alive," growled Eragon.

"Is that so?" asked the Shade, raising an eyebrow. The light from the star sapphire above gave his skin a ghastly tint. "I don't see your 'friend' Murtagh around to help you. You can't stop me now. No one can!"

Fear touched Eragon. _How does he know about Murtagh?_ Putting all the derision he could into his voice, he jeered, "How did you like being shot?"

Durza's face tightened momentarily. "I will be repaid in blood for that. Now tell me where your dragon is hiding."

"Never."

The Shade's countenance darkened. "Then I will force it from you!" His sword whistled through the air. The moment Eragon caught the blade on his shield, a mental probe spiked deep into his thoughts. Fighting to protect his consciousness, he shoved Durza back and attacked with his own mind.

Eragon battered with all his strength against the iron-hard defenses surrounding Durza's mind, but to no avail. He swung Zar'roc, trying to catch Durza off guard. The Shade knocked the blow aside effortlessly, then stabbed in return with lightning speed. He seemingly favoured his pale, scratched sword over the elegant, man-sized cleaver.

The point of the sword caught Eragon in the ribs, piercing his mail and driving out his breath. The mail slipped, though, and the blade missed his side by the width of a wire. The distraction was all Durza needed to break into Eragon's mind and begin taking control.

"No!" cried Eragon, throwing himself at the Shade. His face contorted as he grappled with Durza, yanking on his arm. Durza tried to cut Eragon's hand, but it was protected by the mailbacked glove, which sent the blade glancing downward. As Eragon kicked his leg, Durza snarled and swept his pale sword around once more, knocking him to the floor with the flat of the blade. Eragon tasted blood in his mouth; his neck throbbed. Ignoring his injuries, he rolled over and hurled his shield at Durza. Despite the Shade's superior speed, the heavy shield clipped him on the hip. As Durza stumbled, Eragon caught him on the upper arm with Zar'roc. A line of blood traced down the Shade's arm.

Eragon thrust at the Shade with his mind and drove through Durza's weakened defenses. A flood of images suddenly engulfed him, rushing through his consciousness-

* * *

_Durza as a young boy living as a nomad with his parents on the empty plains. The tribe abandoned them and called his father "oathbreaker." Only it was not Durza then, but Carsaib - the name his mother crooned while combing his hair.…_

* * *

The Shade reeled wildly, face twisted in pain. Eragon tried to control the torrent of memories, but the force of them was overwhelming.

* * *

_Standing on a hill over the graves of his parents, weeping that the men had not killed him as well. Then turning and stumbling blindly away, into the desert.…_

* * *

Durza faced Eragon. Terrible hatred flowed from his maroon eyes. Eragon was on one knee—almost standing—struggling to seal his mind.

* * *

_How the old man looked when he first saw Carsaib lying near death on a sand dune. The days it had taken Carsaib to recover and the fear he felt upon discovering that his rescuer was a sorcerer. How he had pleaded to be taught the control of spirits. How Haeg had finally agreed. Called him "Desert Rat."_

* * *

Eragon was standing now. Durza charged … both swords raised.

* * *

_The days spent training under the scorching sun, always alert for the lizards they caught for food. How his power slowly grew, giving him pride and confidence. The weeks spent nursing his sick master after a failed spell. His joy when Haeg recovered… There was not enough time to react … not enough time.… The bandits who attacked during the night, killing Haeg. The rage Carsaib had felt and the spirits he had summoned for vengeance. But the spirits were stronger than he expected. They turned on him, possessing mind and body. He had screamed. He was - I AM DURZA!_

* * *

The pale blade smote heavily across Eragon's back, cutting through both mail and skin. He screamed as pain blasted through him, forcing him to his knees. Agony bowed his body in half and obliterated all thought. He swayed, barely conscious, hot blood running down the small of his back. Durza said something he could not hear.

The Shade was sent hurtling aside. Alkris stood there in his place, standing between him and Eragon, with a crackling sword raised. He roared furiously. Durza growled, ignoring the startled cries of the Urgals all around, and he swept forth.

The two met in a grand cascade of sparks and snarls. Alkris was fast, gifted with the sword, and possessed immense physical strength.

But Durza was just as fast. And this time he employed the second blade. It swept around in heavy, dangerous blows that always sent Alkris stumbling back. It nicked notches in the Eliksni's sword, bit at his armour, and carved bloody lines where glancing blows managed to hit Alkris.

The pain was incredible. Eragon could hardly keep his eyes open against the constant burning waves that emanated from his back, but he did. He watched. And, with growing horror, he laid witness to Alkris' defeat.

Durza knocked his sword aside and swiftly jabbed forwards with the giant's knife. It ripped through metal, chitin, and bone, protruding from the other side of the Eliksni's torso. Alkris tensed up... then collapsed.

In anguish, Eragon raised his eyes to the heavens, tears streaming down his cheeks. Everything had failed. The Varden and dwarves were destroyed. He was defeated. Saphira would give herself up for his sake—she had done it before—and Arya would be recaptured or killed. Why had it ended like this? What justice could this be? All was for nothing.

Then the angel fell from the sky.

**000**

Ikharos didn't release a war cry as he fell upon Durza. He kept his silence as he crashed against the Shade and struck out with his Dawnblade. Urgals died instantly, burned up by flung Solar missiles. Durza himself wore an expression of shock and, dare he say it, horror. The Shade scarcely managed to escape the worst of the flames, but his armour was left singed and his cloak aflame.

He retreated towards the hole in the stone floor.

 _Not this time_ , Ikharos thought, and he flew after the creature of Darkness. He collided with Durza and grabbed him by his neck. He brought in his sword of flames, but Durza saw it coming and shifted. It ripped into the Shade's hip as opposed to his chest and failed to kill him.

A sudden, brutal pain flared up from Ikharos' own side: the bastard had stuck him. The pale sword went right through him and lodged on a couple of ribs. Ikharos' breath hitched. One of his lungs had been hit. He quickly disengaged and ripped the weapon out, mending the ruined flesh with a cupped handful of healing Light.

Durza used the chance to hobble away. Ikharos' eyes narrowed on the weapon still in the Shade's grasp.

"That's mine!" He shouted, and he tore after Durza. His Light ran out, but Ikahros wasn't finished. The flames that wreathed his entire form darkened, turned purple, and the temperature dropped considerably. Durza twisted around and tried to use Ikharos' momentum against him by wielding the Eternity's Edge like a pike.

It failed. Ikharos adjusted his flight and the blade only managed to slice through his side. He retaliated by grabbing the Shade's sword arm and, summoning all his strength, ripped it off. They were showered in blood and misted Darkness. Durza screamed.

Ikharos plunged his hand into the Shade's chest and wrapped his fingers around his heart.

He squeezed.

**000**

Tellesa killed the Kull with a quick thrust to the neck and darted away as the horned giant fell. She gasped for air; she felt as if she had been fighting for days on end. The battle around her had turned to a bloody scene of sheer carnage. Hundreds lay dead or dying. Maybe thousands. At any moment she might join them.

A Urgal roared and charged her, axe swinging. Paltis stepped up to it and utterly butchered the beast. It didn't even have time to scream.

Another sought to take advantage of the distraction and slay the Eliksni. Tellesa intercepted it, parried its uncoordinated blow, and removed its head. It was laughably easy when armed with an Eliksni sword. They sliced through _everything_.

A roar split the air, but it was not Urgal in origin. Heads twisted around, and eyes were drawn to the sky above. At first Tellesa couldn't see anything, but then a massive shape soared past. At first she couldn't make sense of it - the lights, the gleaming bronze hide, the lack of any wings, legs or apparent head. Her next thought was that it was an insect of some kind, but it was colossal. Larger than even Saphira.

It slowed ever so slightly as it dipped down. It moved faster than anything she had ever seen. Four smaller shapes disengaged from it, humanoid but with far too many limbs to be human. A small swarm of bright-eyed, humming creatures followed their rapid descent towards the ground. They landed gracefully and turned their attention towards the Urgals.

They were Eliksni.

Nearby, Paltis cheered and raised a sword into the air. " _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_!" She bellowed gleefully.

The largest of the Eliksni answered it with a roar, easily outclassing every Urgal war cry. He stood as tall as Kull, garbed in beautiful armour of ivory and gold, a large red cloak trailing behind him. He hefted a long-barreled object that billowed with flames. When he fired, thunder echoed out across the battlefield. A fiery mass shot forth and crashed into the Urgal ranks with a deafening boom. Fire and body parts were sent flying through the air.

The giant insect followed suit. Lightning shot from its front. Urgals died by the dozens. When the other Eliksni joined in, as well as their floating creatures, the horde ahead buckled and cracked apart into chaos.

And then, somehow, the host before them lost all semblance of order. Urgals quite literally froze in place and began to blink, as if woken up from a dream. They looked at each other, then at the Eliksni... and they scattered.

The horde that had been about to overwhelm the Varden just fell apart.


	37. Ether and Glory

Ikharos trudged back into the grand hall. Durza was gone. Now all that remained was to settle the slaughter outside and tally the dead.

So many dead. Nezarec had feasted well. It made his blood boil.

The Urgals within the hall were left as nothing more than cinders and ash, but they weren't the only people there. Two bodies lay limp and unmoving, both bloodied and ruined. Ikharos rushed to the first: the Eliksni. He removed its helmet and held a palm over its mouth. He felt no breath. Ikharos pressed a finger against its neck. No pulse.

" _Kiph's going to hate that_ ," Xiān murmured.

"Yes he is." Ikharos led the Marauder where he was and moved onto the human. A closer look relieved it to be little more than a child. A boy that was not yet a man. A young life cut short. Ikharos wished he could kill Durza all over again. He would do it slower. He would have made sure the Shade suffered for every life he'd snuffed out.

He frowned. "This one's alive."

" _Not for long._ "

Ikharos dragged out what little Light he had and traced it along the grievous wound across the boy's back. There was barely enough power left to stabilize him. The boy's fate was tenuous; he'd already lost a lot of blood.

"We'll get you out of here," Ikharos softly promised him. As delicately as he could, he lifted the lad into his arms and staggered out of the hall. He followed the corridors to the front of the emptied mountain city. His thoughts were wild and unpredictable.

He had done it. He had killed Durza. Kuasta was avenged.

Ikharos didn't feel any better for it. The emptiness of fulfilled vengeance should have been familiar by then. It was far from the first time he'd avenged others. And it was not the first time he'd been disappointed by it, even when all his foes lay dead.

The sounds of battle reached him when he neared the city gate. Ikharos sighed - there was still so much work to be done.

The whoosh of displaced air and the crash of something heavy landing beside him had him leaping back and readying a spike of Void. His eyes focused on the dragon not ten feet away, who in turn flared back at him, nostrils emitting smoke. It was covered in thick blue scales. Each of its four limbs ended in massive talons designed to rend flesh. It had two large bat-like wings of stretched membrane. It had a thick, muscled neck that ended in a long, robust head. Its maw was filled with fearsome fangs, and its eyes were of a rich blue darker than the rest of its body. Two horns crowned the beast. A line of spines ran down its back, with an unusual space left bare over its shoulders.

Something cold pressed against his neck. Ikharos stiffened. He hadn't noticed the new figure approach. Almost as soon as the sword was held against his throat a heavy presence threw itself at his mind.

Ikharos batted the assault aside almost effortlessly. The feeling of shock from the other party was rewarding. He did love to exceed expectations.

He turned his head, unafraid. The aggressor was an elf, much to his surprise. Her ears were a dead giveaway.

"Try that again and I'll fight back," Ikharos warned her. He met her hostile glare with a bold, fearless gaze.

"Let him go," she shot back.

The boy. They wanted the boy. Ikharos gritted his teeth. "Over my dead body."

No chance in hell was he offering up a child to a dragon.

She looked, for a moment, taken off-guard, but her eyes hardened. Ikharos braced himself for the stab - it could be his chance to get close enough to snap her neck. Elves were fast and he simply didn't have the patience to play this one's games.

The dragon growled fiercely. Ikharos ignored it, but he readied his nullscape for the Ahamkara's bite.

"Wait!"

The elf flinched. Her head swiveled ever so slightly. Ikharos suppressed the sudden spike of irritation. Was she really trying to-

"Ikharos!" Formora called. She stood on his other side, sword drawn but held loosely. Like she didn't expect a fight. Her helmet was lowered to obscure her face and change her voice. "They aren't our enemies."

His eyes were once again drawn to the dragon. "I beg to differ."

"It... She's not an Ahamkara! She's a dragon!"

He didn't see any difference.

"She's only angry because you... you have her Rider!"

His attention quickly diverted to the boy. The sudden movement drew blood. The blade had pierced the skin of his neck. He didn't care; the pain was fleeting. Little more than a papercut. "Touched by an Ahamkara..." He muttered.

Like Uldren.

" _Wait, don't do anything rash. What if she's right?_ "

Ikharos paused. " _There's a dragon right there._ "

" _A dragon. Not a Wish-Dragon. Just a simple dragon. Ikharos, think. Look at it. Feel it._ "

He really didn't want to do it. Leaving himself open before an Ahamkara was paramount to suicide. Worse. The damage that a dragon could do with a Guardian under their control...

" _I should just kill it_ ," he decided.

" _That doesn't seem right. We can't just go around killing everything we don't like the look of. We'd be no better than Citan. Or Kandak. Or Rience. Or Persaeus._ "

" _This is different._ "

" _Ikharos, I'm... I'm not so sure it is. Just check. For all our sakes. Before you start an interplanetary war. We have enough of those already._ "

" _It's a damn dragon. I'm not exposing myself._ "

" _Do you trust Formora?_ "

" _That has nothing to do with_ -"

" _It has everything to do with it. Take a chance. We can't win if we don't take risks._ "

" _We can't win if I'm dead_ ," Ikharos grumbled. He debated with himself and glared at the dragon. Finally, with immense reluctance, he probed out with his mind and searched for the dangerous edge of paracausal powers.

The dragon had it in spades. For a moment Ikharos panicked, but when the bite never came, he stopped and took stock of what he'd learned in that first split-second of discovery.

The beast in front of him was magic. It was powerful. But not Ahamkara powerful. The magic didn't permeate every cell in its body. No, the paracausal presence presided over a centre point within the dragon's body.

 _An Eldunarí_ , he realized. Just like a Nïdhwal. And, to some extent, the Aphelion.

The bite never arrived because the dragon couldn't bite in the first place. Not the way an Ahamkara could. It was a being with all the physical limitations of flesh, blood and bone, not magic and wishes. But that wasn't to say it was as ordinary as any beast of the woods.

" _It's... a half-Ahamkara. A Wish-Dragon's bastard whelp. Mixed blood and muddied magic._ "

The paracausal potential within the creature was almost entirely dormant, but an active strand of power caught his attention. Ikharos studied it, traced it to the other end... and found himself looking at the boy.

The boy and the dragon were connected. It was a neural symbiosis.

It angered him, and there was no rational reason for it.

"Take him," Ikharos growled. The unnamed elf hesitated, so he repeated it. "Take him. Now."

The sword dropped. She took hold of the boy and gently laid him down on the ground. The dragon inched closer. Ikharos kept his eyes trained on the beast as he made his retreat. Formora stopped him before he could leave and said, in a quiet voice, "Thank you."

He regarded her coolly. "I _hate_ dragons."

Ikharos moved on before she had a chance to respond. He headed towards the sound of screams.

* * *

His dark thoughts and difficult mood drove him to pick up the pace. Soon the battle came into view; a field of bare stone stained with blood both crimson and black. A quick lookover told him all he needed to know; the Urgals had been routed, but a few stubborn bands remained and tested themselves against the Varden. A few flashes of bright light informed him that the Eliksni were steadily dismantling those belligerents.

Ikharos joined them. He Blinked and glided past ranks of tired and terrified humans and what he assumed to be dwarves, if their short stature was any indication. He closed in on an Urgal band like a shark who'd caught the scent of blood and threw himself into the fray. Xiān dropped the Eternity Edge into his hand. It was like meeting an old friend again.

But, as he soon discovered, it didn't feel right. It sliced through ramshackle armour and flesh as if none of it were there, but it had little of Orúm's grace . The Rider's blade had ruined all other swords for him. It had been perfect. Ikharos doubted he would find its equal again.

_Damn that Aphelion._

The Urgals had been steadfast and stout-hearted foes, but by the time he'd slain his fourth victim their courage abandoned them and desperation set in. Ikharos dodged and danced past swords, axes, clubs, and spears. He tore through their ranks with his massive blade and cracked bone with his fists. They were big creatures, and strong because of it, but they were of mortal design. In terms of power, both physical and paracausal, he exceeded them.

It was not long before the gang all lay dead or dying. Ikharos didn't wait around; he moved onto the next, ignoring the awe-stricken stares of those soldiers who had been battling with the beasts mere minutes ago.

The second group of Urgals had seen their fellows fall to him. They gave up on having any chance of fighting back. They fled after the rest of their brethren into the tunnels. Ikharos let them go.

The third group were not so wise. Ikharos ripped through them. He broke horns, smashed skulls, and severed limbs. He was not a tidy fighter. His only directive was to kill them as quickly and efficiently as possible.

The fourth group he had his eyes on were already gone by the time he arrived. Melkris and Eldrin had made short work of the strange hominids. Their swords sizzled and steamed with evaporating Urgal blood. The shockshooter looked rather pleased with himself. He cheered as soon as he caught sight of Ikharos.

"Ah, _Kirzen_! You killed the Maw-Bitten?"

 _The Shade_ , Ikharos assumed. " _Eia_. Where's Kiphoris?"

Eldrin pointed southwards. "He chases these horned things to the tunnels. He herds them like prey."

A distant boom punctuated the Marauder's words. Ikharos nodded his thanks and ran towards the origin of the explosion.

He passed hundreds of humans and dwarves, who all resembled fish out of water. They were nervous, scared, and very, very confused. Ikharos couldn't blame them.

Even he had no idea how he'd managed to team up with a bunch of Eliksni, let alone accept their presence without resorting to violence. Kepler was a strange, strange world.

He found Kiphoris doing just what Eldrin said he was doing: herding Urgals with a Scorch Cannon into the tunnels. Hundreds ran for their lives, screaming and shouting. To them, Kiphoris must have seemed a vengeful god. The remaining stragglers found themselves viciously cut down by Shanks. Soon the Urgals had vacated the hollowed mountain entirely, leaving their dead behind.

Kiphoris lifted his head and let loose a mighty roar. The rest of the Eliksni, scattered around the battlefield, answered it with roars of their own. Ikharos deigned not to join in; senseless bellowing didn't really appeal to him.

He sucked in a nervous breath and strode up to the Captain.

The Dreamer quietened and looked him over. His eyes lingered on the Eternity Edge. " _Ikha Riis_ ," he greeted with a polite nod. "It is done?"

"The Shade's dead, yeah, but..." Ikharos trailed off. He didn't want to do it, but he had been the one to find the body. The responsibility lay with him. "One of your guys is dead."

Kiphoris stilled. His four eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. "No," he rasped quietly.

"Yes. Durza killed him before I could get to them. There was..." _Damn that Shade_. Ikharos closed his eyes. He hated this. "There was nothing I could do."

Kiphoris swung his head around. "But Paltis is there... Oh, Great Machine... Alkris..." His shoulders and head drooped. "Mine-friend..."

"I'm... I'm sorry," Ikharos said haltingly. He tried to retreat back to the dark thoughts of the dragon. He preferred anger over sorrow. It was easier to come to terms with. He always chose the burning pyre over the hollowed abyss.

Some Voidwalker he was.

Kiphoris recovered quickly. Recover felt like the wrong term to Ikharos. More like gathered his wits. The Captain once more assumed the cold, hard look that Ikharos knew so well. "Our hunt has ended."

"It has."

The Eliksni looked around. "And your kin are saved. The humans here will survive another day."

"Yeah. They will."

Kiphoris looked away. The façade dropped for a split second. Ikharos caught a brief glimpse of the soul-eating grief beneath. "I must tell Paltis.." The Captain exhaled slowly. "Come with me. I believe your charge is with her."

"My charge?" Ikharos frowned. He didn't have any students. Not on Kepler.

The Captain didn't answer. Kiphoris stalked off. He marched straight to where a distant Eliksni picked through the corpses, occasionally stabbing one. The air was heavy with the scent of blood. It was powerful enough to make a normal man sick. But Ikharos had seen too many battles for it to faze him.

The universe had worse to offer than the stench of war.

The Marauder they sought out wasn't alone. She was flanked by two humans, who routinely slashed at any Urgal corpse they suspected of simply playing dead. The ground was littered with bodies.

They turned around when Kiphoris cleared his throat. Ikharos paused, then with slow consideration, removed his helmet. "Tellesa?" He asked. All his hate for the dragon, his guilt for the fallen Marauder, it was all swept away by the overpowering senses of gratitude and relief.

She perked up and studied him for a solid minute. Then, "Ikharos?"

"One and the same."

Tellesa smiled broadly. "You're here. Helping the Varden."

"Sure." She didn't need to know that it was entirely coincidental. His target had been Durza and solely that.

"Last I saw you, you were sailing off to Vroengard."

He shrugged. "Didn't suit me. Too much rain."

"You left the seat of the Dragon Riders' power... because it rained?"

"Essentially."

She shook her head. "You're a strange man. It's good to see you again."

"Likewise."

She gestured to her fellows. "This is Murtagh. He's a good sort. You'll like him; I know you will. And this is Paltis. She's been protecting us for a while. And... well, I take it you already know Kiphoris."

"I do." Better to leave it at that.

Tellesa turned her attention to the Captain. "Hello, Kiphoris."

"Greetings, Tellesa Corsair-Spirit," Kiphoris replied warmly. His eyes visibly brightened. It didn't last long. When he regarded Paltis, his inner eyes closed. "I bear ill news."

The Marauder leaned on her sword, eyeing Ikharos suspiciously. Her helmet was clutched under the brook of a lower arm, revealing her scarlet plumage and fearsome jaws. "Who this?" She asked in broken English.

"He's Ikharos. The wizard I talked about," Tellesa explained. She frowned up at the Scar Captain. "What ill news?"

Kiphoris hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was chock full of emotion. "Alkris is... gone."

For a long, stretched out moment nothing happened. Then Paltis dropped her sword. Her eyes widened with sudden, unadulterated terror. " _Nama_ ," she whispered. Then, louder, " _Nama_!"

The Marauder released a long mournful howl. She stumbled back and almost tripped over a dead Urgal. Paltis righted herself just in time and clutched her head in shaking hands. Ether-tears streamed through her fingers.

"Alkris?" Tellesa's smile died away. "No..."

She looked down at her sword. Ikharos only then realized it was a shock blade.

"Oh shit," he muttered.

Murtagh breathed in sharply. He was young, too young to be on a battlefield. His face went pale, but he didn't say anything. He wrapped an arm around Tellesa's shoulders. She leaned on him, eyes scrunched up.

Ikharos looked away. _There goes the good feelings._

**000**

"Who are you?"

Formora stalled. She hadn't prepared for this. At length she said, " _Aí fricai. Néiat aí fjandí._ "

The other elf - who bore an indigo tattoo of the Yawë on her shoulder - fixed her with a piercing look. "You call yourself a friend, but I do not know you. You say you are not an enemy, but can I trust that? Your statement is too broad - you could be deceiving me."

"I'm no foe of yours. But I am to Galbatorix and his servants, of that you can be assured." Formora helped her load the child, the Dragon Rider, onto the blue dragon's saddle. The sounds of the drake breathing, the smell of the smoke, it brought back memories. Pleasant memories.

"Will you not give me your name?" The other elf inquired.

"... Zeshus." _Wishbreaker_. The Eliksni-given title was one she would bear with pride. It would suit her purposes here. "And what of you?"

"... Arya." When the boy was secured, the other elf crossed her arms.

"And you, dragon?" Formora turned her attention back to the magnificent creature before her. The dragon craned her neck around to study her curiously. When the dragon's mind reached out, Formora was quick to close down her defenses but glad to hear the deep, powerful voice.

" _I am Saphira. Well met, Zeshus._ "

"Well met, Saphira."

" _Who was that? Before?_ "

"That was..." She hesitated. There was a chance he would want the same thing, to keep his name from reaching unintended ears, but she doubted. Ikharos was new to Alagaësia. No one knew him. "Ikharos," she finished.

The dragon's eyes widened ever so slightly. " _The wizard?_ "

Formora paused. _So people do know him… Oh._ "Yes. Where did you hear that?"

" _A woman by the name of Tellesa spoke of him._ "

"And he spoke to me of Tellesa." She nodded. It made sense.

 _A dragon!_ She thought pleasantly. _A free dragon! A free Rider! The future is bright!_

If only it weren't buried beneath a mountain of death. So many had already died, and many more were bound to. Even so, the wheels of fate had begun to turn, and that in itself was cause for celebration.

"The boy is injured; he needs a healer," Formora told them. Arya leapt onto Saphira's back and secured the Rider. "Go, quickly."

The dragon took off without another word. The sight of her flying off into the darkness of the hollowed mountain was beautiful. Formora never thought she'd ever see anything like that again.

When Saphira had disappeared, Formora let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in and set off after Ikharos. The Risen was independent and clearly capable of taking care of himself, but he was inept when it came to delicate matters like politics. His handling of the Eliksni in Ceunon proved just that. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had managed to gain an alliance in the first place.

She set off at a brisk run and left Tronjheim behind. The dwarven architecture put her on edge; it was eerily similar, in terms of design, to what they found in the Blasted Mountains. She didn't fancy finding a second Aphelion. The resident immortal had scarcely managed to survive the first.

Formora found Ikharos with Kiphoris. The Eliksni wore a defeated expression. The Risen still looked irritated.

"What happened?" She asked worriedly.

Ikharos shook his head ever so slightly. "Dead Scar. Durza got him."

"Oh." Formora debated with herself before laying a hand on Kiphoris' metal-clad shoulder. It was quite a reach. "I'm sorry."

The Captain dipped his head. "Alkris was of good-spirit. He was a friend." The Eliksni sighed heavily. It filtered through his helmet as a hiss. "I worry for Alkris' mate. Paltis will be hurt."

A long silence ensued. Eventually, Formora asked, "How long do most Eliksni live?"

Kiphoris looked up. "By human years? Thousands."

That... was far longer than she had ever expected.

"Oh." She didn't know what else to say. "How long did you know him?"

"I have lost count. My time with the screaming machines changed those values. Almost a century, if I guess. Paltis knew him longer." Kiphoris sagged and glanced to the side. Formora followed his gaze. It led to another Eliksni, some distance away, who had curled up into a ball. "They knew of one another since they were recently-hatched _kelekhs_. They hatched a child together..."

"What... happened to the child?" She feared the answer.

"Death."

Formora didn't reply. She couldn't. Ikharos looked just how she felt: lost.

The Risen inhaled. "You... probably don't want me here. I need to check up on Tellesa." He left them.

Kiphoris looked after him. "I..." He trailed off and suddenly found the ground so very interesting.

Formora dropped her hand. When Ikharos was gone, she asked, "What were you going to say?"

The Captain raised his head. "Nothing."

"It did not sound like nothing.

He studied her for a long time. Eventually, he said in a gruff voice, "Your mind is almost as sharp as your ears."

Formora frowned, unsure whether she should smile or not. "You..."

He chuckled. It sounded sad.

**000**

Ikharos was cut off by a group of soldiers before he could reach Tellesa. They eyed him nervously - either they'd seen him fight the Urgals or they'd heard of it from their friends. They were led by a dark-skinned man in wonderfully pristine armour of chainmail and the odd steel plate. They clutched weapons in taut grips.

"At ease," the Warlord told them, "I'm not a bad guy."

Their leader frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

"Ikharos Torstil, Guardian of Earth."

The lead soldier raised an eyebrow.

"I'm here with Kiphoris, the Dreamer."

The eyebrow only climbed higher.

Ikharos sighed. "I'm... the ' _wizard_ '. Of Teirm."

Of course _that_ made perfect sense. The officer nodded. "Ah," he said. "And... how are you here?"

"I arrived in the Falle-" Xiān gave him a mental kick. Ikharos rapidly switched gears. "The Eliksni Skiff."

The eyebrows were back at it.

"The big flying metal thing."

"Ah."

"You have a habit of saying ' _ah_ ' a lot, don't you?"

The soldier cracked a smile. "My apologies, but so much of this beggars belief..."

"Then start believing. Can we get whatever this is out of the way?" He crossed his arms. "A friend of mine's neck-deep in grief and I want to make sure she won't do anything foolish."

One of the soldiers - who looked nothing like a soldier, now that Ikharos had a better look - glared at him. The man was bald and thin, and he wore robes of purple and gold. His appearance screamed mage. "You must open your mind for inspection," he demanded.

The lead soldier narrowed his eyes, but otherwise did and said nothing.

Ikharos huffed. "You want to get in my head?"

The bald man nodded.

"No."

"It is not negotiable."

"I just killed a Shade. Do you really want to give me trouble?" Ikharos inquired.

Silence ensued. Deafening silence. The kind of silence that wasn't quite pleasant to be in. Finally, the leader said, "You claim to have slain a Shade? We have seen none."

"It was in your city. He tunneled through the floor with a group of Urgals." Out of the corner of his eye, Ikharos spotted the bald man flinch as if struck. "I killed them."

"But... Eragon was..." Ajihad trailed off. His voice grew urgent. "The boy, the Rider, did you see him?!"

Ikharos scowled. "Yes. He's with an elf. _And_ that damn dragon."

"Is he...?"

"Unharmed? No. The Shade had him alone for time. But I suspect he'll live. Dragons don't like it when their toys break. Let's cut this short. What do you want?"

The lead soldier stepped forward. "I want answers. What is happening?"

Ikharos jutted a thumb over his shoulder. "Kiphoris, a Captain of the Eliksni Great House of Scar, has come to your aid. I've arrived to kill Durza, but that was personal. We'll only be here a short while."

"Scars..." The soldier squinted. "How do we know you are not our foes?"

"We haven't killed you yet. That's how." Ikharos set his jaw. "You're the Varden, aren't you?"

"We are. But... how did you find us?"

"Your cousin. Sagabato-no Inapashunna Fadawar. We were with the Inapashunna when they received your message."

"Why?"

"Because you mentioned Eliksni."

"Paltis and Alkris?"

"Ye-es..." _Just Paltis now._ "We've been looking for them. Arriving just in time to help you lot was a happy little coincidence, wasn't it?"

The soldier nodded reluctantly. He held out a hand. "I am Ajihad. Leader of the Varden."

Ikharos shook it. "Ikharos Torstil. I've worked with a rebel cell before, back in Kuasta. Rendan led it. The empire's no friend of mine. Neither are Urgals. Does that assure you, Ajihad?"

"It... does." Ajihad hesitated. "Rendan sent letters saying as much, but... I couldn't believe what I read."

"And now?"

"You slaughtered those Urgals. With ease." Ajihad exhaled. "Perhaps Rendan was right. Even so, I cannot take your word for it. Would you not allow my man here to check your mind so that we are assured you are no agent of the king?"

"No." Ikharos was getting impatient. The dragon, and the dead Scar, had put him in a foul mood. The current exchange was not helping. Not in the slightest. "My mind is my own. I won't let _anyone_ meddle with that."

" _Nosu eru néiat aí fjandí abr du varden. Du könungr huildr né domia ofan edtha_ _._ "

Ikharos half-turned. Formora glanced back, suddenly standing beside him. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking, what with the helmet obscuring her face.

The humans recoiled at the sound of her altered voice. After overcoming the initial shock, Ajihad frowned and looked at his mage. The bald man stared at Formora, then dipped his head. "They say they are no enemy of the Varden. And the king holds no dominance over them."

A tension left the soldiers. Ajihad offered them a relieved smile. "That will have to do. And you are...?"

"Zeshus," Formora answered.

Ikharos felt a presence gently brush against his consciousness. He hesitantly met it with a sharpened probe. " _Don't reveal my name. It would cause complications we could do without_ ," Formora told him.

Mental communication with someone other than his Ghost was a novelty. Ikharos wasn't sure if he liked it. It would take some getting used to.

* * *

Tellesa was far from well, but it did little to douse her fire. She worked with the soldiers of the Varden to secure the hollowed mountain, Farthen Dûr, from the Urgals. When the surrounding flats were secure, she and Murtagh joined the dwarves as they returned to the city and assessed the damage within. Ikharos let them go. He thought it best to let them busy themselves.

Kiphoris met with Ajihad not long after. Their discussion was brief, but both came away satisfied. The newly-arrived Eliksni were free to stay, and the Varden would leave them in peace. The Captain was permitted to delve into the city with Melkris to fetch Alkris' body. The entire crew stood silent outside the landed Skiff when they returned, heads bowed respectfully. Ikharos watched from the sidelines. He didn't want to intrude.

The Skiff had landed in a spot far from the battle, where the stench of bodies wouldn't reach them. It was in plain view of the city, which he assumed was one of the conditions of them staying. The Varden - and the unusual creatures that were the dwarves - wanted to be able to see them. Messengers from the city started to arrive when the sun reached its Zenith, but Formora cut them off before they could reach the mourning Scars. She made promises and assurances again and again to satisfy their hosts, but it was in an endeavour to fend them off until Kiphoris was ready to deal with them.

"This isn't quite the happy ending I envisioned," Ikharos muttered. He sat with his legs crossed not far from the Skiff, attempting to meditate. His mind was too full of whirling thoughts, though. He couldn't find the chance to walk through the serene pools of the nullscape.

"What did you envision?" Xiān asked. Her fins drooped. The dejected mood was contagious.

"That Durza would die, and those we sought to save would be safe and sound. Not... this. It's a mess."

"You mean the battle or... Alkris?"

"Both. This was another of Nezarec's plans. Or Galbatorix's. Either or. They profit from all this."

"And have you got a solution for that?"

"Beyond killing them? Not really. There's so much wrong here. So much for us to do. And too many enemies. We can't fight them all. We need to take action. Take an offensive stance. All we're doing now is trying to mitigate the damage they're dishing out. It's not working." He got to his feet and started to pace. "We need to do something."

"Do what? There's still, like, a bajillion things that want you dead. If you start swinging, they'll all take notice. All of them. The Exos tracked us to Ceunon. They could be tracking us now and we wouldn't know. If we try to kill Galbatorix then we'll be walking onto their turf. We wouldn't survive, let alone succeed."

Ikharos growled and kicked a loose pebble. It soared for a solid ten seconds before clattering on the stone floor. He attempted, with limited success, to control his breathing. His anger didn't like being smothered.

" _... I could assist, O Child of Light..._ "

"Shut up!" Ikharos snarled. He glared at the Skiff. He hoped the feather could feel the hate.

Xiān landed on his shoulder. "You need to quit brooding. Let's just take it one step at a... Nevermind, looks like you're wanted."

Ikharos frowned. "What?"

" _Kirzen_!" A Scar called from the Skiff. It was the Splicer, Javek.

The Warlock wandered closer. "What is it?"

The Splicer was joined by Melkris. The shockshooter held a metal flask of something. Ether, Ikharos presumed. "Do not ask, just join us!"

Ikharos let himself be guided into the vessel by the two. Within the Skiff's hold was the gathered crew, all their helmets set aside. Calzan, Kiphoris, Eldrin, Paltis and now both Javek and Melkris. Formora leaned against the bulkhead, eyeing her drink curiously. Alkris' corpse was on one of the metal benches towards the front of the ship, dark-eyed and motionless. His armour had been polished and his cloak replaced. Kida stood beyond him in standby mode.

Obleker-17, the small Servitor, loomed over them and refilled their cups. Ikharos nodded to himself; it was indeed ether.

Someone pressed a flask into his hands. "Join us," Melkris said in a solemn voice. "Please. A sorrow shared is a sorrow lightened."

Ikharos blinked. "That's... unusually insightful of you."

Melkris closed his inner eyes. "I am always insightful."

"No," Eldrin groaned. "You are ridiculous."

The shockshooter gnashed his fangs. "Gah! None of you _Ba'sha_ comprehend my great wisdom."

Calzan snorted. "Of course not. Wisdom? Wise Melkris? Ha!"

"Just sit, you fool," Kiphoris grunted. His eyes were downcast.

"Fine. Fine!" The shockshooter seated himself as dramatically as he possibly could. Ikharos took the spot opposite him, beside Javek. "Now we drink, yes?"

Paltis muttered something under her breath and took a draught. The rest of them followed suit. Ikharos made sure he only sipped the ether testingly. It had a fresh, unique taste full of sweetness, but it was ice-cold. He openly laughed when Formora suddenly cradled her head.

"Brain freeze?" He asked snidely.

She glowered and put her drink aside. "Didn't expect that," she mumbled. Her Eliksni was improving.

Kiphoris chuckled. "I have heard, from my father, that our world of Riis was very cold. Too cold for humans. The natural ether was cold enough to kill those unprepared. We drink it like this to remember the home we left behind."

"Do you... remember?" Formora asked curiously. Her wince faded away.

"Remember Riis? _Nama_. I was hatched in a Ketch in Sol. Mine-childhood was spent when mine-House, the Gentle Weavers, settled amongst the gas giants." He leaned back. "The first humans I met were those who lived in the scattered ruins orbiting those worlds. Strange people indeed. Faces full of grasping limbs, bodies forged of shadow..."

Ikharos closed his eyes. His first encounter with Xûr had been a tense, nerve-wracking experience. There was something inherently wrong with the Jovian's visage. Something unnatural. He had made a point of keeping away from the Agent of the Nine after that, damned be the relics from the outer worlds.

No one said anything for a while after that. Eventually, Paltis growled, "It's too quiet."

Melkris perked up. "Songs? Shall we sing?"

"Not you," Calzan said quickly. "Your songs would drive a Thrall to madness."

"Oh, you," Melkris glared at the grizzled pilot. "I am glad we are friends. You are so supportive." Javek laughed. The shockshooter turned on him. "And what of you, eh? Can you sing?"

Javek froze. His laughter died away. "Eh... _Nama_. I think it would be best if I did not."

Melkris tutted. "Singing keeps our memories alive. Have you heard Inelziks-Poet recite her verses? She gives life to the songs of Riis. Her voice lends strength to our fallen ancestors and bids them to join us in times of celebration."

"I have heard her, yes, but I do not see-

"Singing is important, young Javek. It is important. It keeps a House hale and healthy."

"I thought that was ether?"

"Ether too. But don't mistake mine-words. Songs are important to all peoples. Ah! What of the songs of Sol?" Melkris turned his gaze towards Ikharos. "Might you regale us with the music of your people?"

"I... don't know about that… I don't sing either."

Kiphoris shifted. "There are many Eliksni songs, but there is one I am sure you are familiar with, _Ikha Riis_. The Verses of Onslaught?"

Ikharos hesitated. "... It's a Devil's song."

" _Eia_."

"It's a song about battle between them and my kind. The Battle of Six Fronts."

"Shall I recite it?"

The rest of the Eliksni leaned forward with eager expressions. Ikharos shrugged; what did he care?

So Kiphoris inhaled deeply... and he began.

"Kell Drifis the Daring declaimed to the dread-makers:

' _Whirlwind whisked us to this war-weary world;_

_We galloped the galaxy to grasp the Great Machine._

_It is not our fate to fail on this field!_ '

And they went, war-whooping for the white orb, to the wall.

Mark the marvelous manslayers who that day marched:

Vililiks the Unvanquished, Vithriks and Vithiliks,

Pirthis and Pithax, called Peerless and Psirris-Slayer,

Rilliks the Revenger and Erivir the Righteous,

But the brutal ones with their bodies barred the way,

The deathless dead ones they call _dih-dans_.

 _Rahdighask_ reaved ten _rikhas_ into Rilliks's range,

His death-blows drove back the ranks of Dregs,

No numbers could negate the _dih-dan_ 's nerve,

Until Kiriviks King-Killer called out to the crew.

Summoning her shockshooters, the sly Baroness stood

Against _Rahdighask_ at the twelfth _rikha_ and rallied the rabble.

Gunned down again and again, the gruesome _dih-dan_ _s_ grew afraid,

And the _dih-dan_ _s_ drew back at last, defied and defeated,

And marched no more into the field of the machine-loyal!

Then the righteous righter of wrongs rallied the rabble;

Yes, Kiriviks King-Killer called for a counter charge!

I wish you could witness the waves of warm-Ethered warbands!

The _dih-dan_ _s_ drew ranks, doughty as walls of _durmatter_ ,

But Kiriviks carved cracks in their undead configuration!

Fearful were Kiriviks's Firebreak foes as back they fell.

We thought the white orb, Whirlwind-Maker, we had won!

But alas! Lovely Kiriviks's laughter was not long-lived.

Before the barriers of broad-shouldered _dih-dan_ _s_ broke,

She was slain, singing to the sphere, by _Osiriks_ ,

The _Wirliks_ who wended his way unwatched through the war-land.

Remember Kiriviks, the righteous who halted ravaging _Rahdighask_!"

The assembled Eliksni hummed and blinked in appreciation. They enjoyed stories of bravery on the battlefield.

"Were you there?" Melkris suddenly inquired. Ikharos realized that the shockshooter was asking him.

He shook his head. "No. I was on the other side of the planet at the time. I had my own little kingdom. City called Salzburg."

"You were a Kell?"

"Not really. I had people living there under my watch, but I served them rather than the other way around."

"How is that?"

"I protected them from threats, be it roaming Risen Warlords or hungry Devil gangs."

Melkris closed his outer eyes. "You fought Devils! Dangerous fighters, those sons and daughters of Daneks."

Ikharos didn't know how to reply, so he kept his silence.

"What of human songs?"

"I don't sing," the Warlock repeated.

Xiān twitched her fins. "We heard Formora sing. She's really good."

Attention diverted to the elf. Formora spared the Ghost an annoyed look. Xiān only snickered.

"Will you sing?" Calzan questioned.

Formora inclined her head. She took a brief moment to gather herself and, in a soft and enchanting voice, sang:

" _Du daga evarína flautja ofan,_

_Myrkí thrífa hlaupa framvír älf._

_Du fjandeya unin du myrkí falla hrygr medh älf,_

_Un eitha du landr wiol du fricaya abr du dag_

_Garmr hlaupa un bita,_

_Theirr mor'amr theirra munnr un ready aí faedhír!_

_Du orúmar sharjaví undir du traevamar,_

_Theirr varda un geta._

_Du brisingr brenna un astorí nosu,_

_Vae thrífa aln älf wiol verma._

_Du frósja drahtr aln du hurdh un jierda du grind,_

_Mar du brisingr heill nosu pessu._

_Du branar abr du evaríneya kuasta kalla wiol nosu,_

_Aurboda du eld veidhar unin du myrkr._

_Aetti vae néiat embrace theirr_?"

It ended quicker than anyone liked. Ikharos had never heard anything quite like it. He wanted to hear more. There was an impossible beauty to it.

Formora kept her eyes on her drink. Satisfied it had warmed long enough, she took a sip. There was no head-cradling. No brain freeze.

"That was..." Melkris began.

Javek clapped. "Excellent!" He finished.

Kiphoris tilted his head. "That was the magic-language, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

The Captain studied her. "Can this magic-language be taught?"

Every head snapped around to look at him. Kiphoris ignored them all.

Formora hesitated. Then, in English, "Yes. The language can. But the magic must already be within someone."

"How can this magic be found?"

She finally looked up and met his indecipherable gaze. "Start with something small. Something light. Then.. say _reisa_. It would take time. If the object rises, you can perform magic. If it does not rise, then you cannot."

"What do you intend, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_?" Calzan asked carefully.

The Captain didn't say anything for some time. "I tire of losing friends to magic. We need magic of our own." He sighed. "It is a matter for another day. Let us leave it be."

The Eliksni moved on. Some sang. When they had their fill of music, they turned to riddles. When the riddle games had run out, they regaled their fellows with fantastical stories. It lulled Ikharos into finally letting go of his remaining reservations. He joined in when he saw fit, and laughed when prompted. Calzan was witty and Melkris absurd, supplying more than ample entertainment for everyone else. Obleker was ripe with ether and provided for them until all the drinks ran out and the eyes of the Eliksni glowed as bright as stars.

Formora's fractured Low Speak was little issue. The Scars were likewise not well-versed in English, barring their Captain, and it made for a lovely mess of continuous misinterpretations.

Night had long since fallen when Melkris stood and announced a round of boasting.

"Boasting?" Formora asked.

Ikharos nodded, trying and failing to hide a grin. "Customary for a warrior-culture like theirs. They'll sing their own praises. It's a competition, to see who's the greatest warrior among them."

"What's to stop them from lying?"

"Honour."

It was Javek, most inexperienced among them, who went first. "I am a Splicer, not a renowned fighter. I think I will lose."

"Just say your praises!" Calzan demanded.

The Splicer closed his outer eyes. " _Eia_ , I was getting to that!"

Calzan recoiled. Everyone else laughed. The ether had given the young Scar courage.

Javek cleared his throat. "Right... I am Javek, the Technician. I endured docking without crying out. I fought for the right of mine-arms and won them back. When we fought the Cabal at Melechor, I slew a Legionary with mine-rifle. I killed seven Hive Thrall at Vinis-2."

He sat down and looked around expectantly.

"The only good Hive is a dead Hive," Ikharos said at last. "Always be proud of that."

Melkris cackled. "Agreed!"

Calzan rolled his shoulders and stood. "I'll take mine-turn... I am Calzan, the Far-Flighted! I traversed the glacial chaos of the Auchan Shards! I have danced with Cabal pilots all my life and left them clueless - or dead! I led a raid against the military installation of Ciutani-Eria! At Melechor, our Skiffs broke the Cabal's ground defenses, and I led that aerial formation! At Vinis-2, I burned out three Tombships! And here, I took down two Cabal Threshers! I outran both the storm and Krayd! I have killed too many of those horned not-humans to count!"

He bowed and returned to his perch.

"Too much pride!" Melkris challenged. "You exaggerate yourself!"

"I do not!"

"You do too!"

Eldrin grumbled. "I'll go. Before they kill each other." He sucked in a deep breath. "I am Eldrin, Broken Claw." He held up one of his hands. The thumb-claw had been shattered halfway down. "I broke this leaping from a falling Skiff. I slew Manatriks, Traitor-Sworn who attempted to finish Taniks' twisted mission and wipe out the true-blooded Scar Kells. I survived the poisonous wastes of Vunonopei, where I and mine-comrades were stalked for many Riis-days by the Sludge-Serpents! I have slipped through the ranks of twelve Cabal legions and caused them no shortage of mechanical pains! I sabotaged the ship of Valus Fhre'ic and thus killed him! I fought alongside Kiphoris at the battle of Melechor and killed a dozen Cabal shieldbearers! A Psion Flayer fell by my hand, after I had hidden my thoughts with dreams! At Vinis-2, I took a Witch's head and put her newly-hatched brood to the sword!"

"So very violent..." Formora muttered in English. Her words were offset by her warm smile. Her face and neck were flushed - the ether was strong. It could have very well been double-strength enhanced ether.

Ikharos wondered if there were any negative effects on humans consuming ether. Surely a reckless Hunter had tried it out, but no. There was hardly anything on the subject.

"What is it you say?" Eldrin sat down, scrutinizing her with a curious look. Ikharos translated for her. "Ah, but we do not leave easy lives."

"No, we do not," Kiphoris agreed. He spoke in English. "Our lives are fraught with peril. Since Riis fell it has always been like that. We learn to fight and kill or we die."

"I don't mean to offend," Formora said quickly. "It will only take some getting used to. Your people are fascinating."

Kiphoris inclined his head. "Thank you. Now, what of you Melkris? Care to elaborate on your deeds?"

"Of course!" The shockshooter jumped to his feet. He was vibrating with excitement. "I am Melkris, the Sharp-Eyed! I crossed the razor-reeds of Kilnichi and emerged unscathed! Mine-brothers have all expressed envy for my skilled gaze! One even threatened to cut out mine-eyes, but Taksa is a fool that no one takes seriously!"

Eldrin and Calzan groaned simultaneously.

"What? I'm right!"

"Melkris," Kiphoris said in a warning voice.

"Bah! I have claimed the lives of many Psion Infiltrators! At Llecani I dueled the legendary Operant Sheukan and claimed his medals as my trophies! At Melechor I forced an entire Cabal Maniple into hiding behind an energy barrier, lest they feel my Arc bite! When we made battle with the Hive at Vinis-2, I took out the third eye of my every victim! Just one shot each! No misses!"

"So you don't miss?" Ikharos asked.

" _Eia_ , that is exactly what I mean!" Melkris smugly closed his outer eyes.

"That's... commendable."

Calzan huffed. "Do not encourage him, _Ikha Riis_. He will become insufferable."

"He already is," Eldrin muttered.

Melkris scoffed. "Bah! You are a _psesiska_ -"

Xiān lifted into the air. "Mind if I have a go?"

Melkris' growing retort died off. "You?!" He said incredulously.

"Yeah, me. Sure, I don't have swords or guns or even hands, but I've been in a few scraps. Haven't I?" She turned to Ikharos.

"You have," he admitted.

"See?"

"Little Light-Servitor has been in fights?" Melkris settled back down. "Tell us."

Xiān's single eye brightened happily. "I am Xiān, the Amazing! I killed a Red Legion Psion by transmatting its liver! I killed thirty-something Scorn with a Drake tank! I wrestled a raccoon!"

She finished there. The Eliksni blinked. Eventually, Javek asked, "What is... raccoon?"

"Beasts unlike any other! Their viciousness if unparalleled and their might is-"

"They are furred creatures who steal food from others," Kiphoris explained. "Feisty and sly, but very small. Though..." He eyed the Ghost thoughtfully, "To little Xiān, they would be fearsome indeed."

"And... Scorn?" Calzan inquired.

"Eliksni reanimated by corrupted ether. Nothing more than feral, mutated beasts," Ikharos supplied. "Infected by Darkness, Dragon-magic and Hive curses. They used to be a threat, but their days are numbered. Guardians are suppressing them, keeping them from gaining any more hold in the Reef. We're getting help from a former Wolf gang leader on that front."

"Who?" Kiphoris asked.

"The Spider."

"Him. _Eia_ , I know of that Wolf." Kiphoris closed his inner pair of eyes. "A greedy creature, but he keeps his promises."

"That he does."

"What of you, _Ikha Riis_?" Javek pressed. "Will you make your boasts?"

The Warlock inhaled slowly. "Sure," he said. He stood and crossed his arms. His heartbeat picked up - it could have been nervousness or apprehension or a mix of the two. "I am Ikharos, the Kingkiller, the Dragonslayer, Aphelionbane. I slew Oryx, God-King of the Hive, twice. I killed his physical body, and then I killed his immortal soul in his throne world. Three Ahamkara have fallen by my hand: Huginn, who coiled around the mountain Ozza Mons, Esatos, who haunted the ruins of Dublin, and Riven, who was Taken by Oryx and then instructed to cause chaos across the Reef from her cage within the Dreaming City. I killed the Aphelion in the caverns of Du Fells Nángoröth."

He paused for a brief second before he continued. "I killed Draksis, the Kell of Winter, in his throne room. I killed Malok, Pride of Oryx, and Alak-Hul, the Darkblade. I brought down Sekrion, the Nexus Mind. I defeated the bond-brothers Valus Mau'ual and Valus Tlu'urn. I killed four Scorn Barons: Araskes the Trickster, Hiraks the Mindbender, Elykris the Machinist, and Kaniks the Mad Bomber."

Ikharos finished and quietly took his seat.

Kiphoris hummed. "Hive gods, Axis minds, Wish-Dragons, Star-Eater, Cabal War-Leaders, undying Barons, and a warrior Kell. That is a long list, _Ikha Riis_. But you have slain more. Armies of foes. Armies of grunting militants, screaming machines, and green-eyed wretches. You are more a weapon than a being." The Captain went quiet for a tense handful of seconds. "Such skill in battle is commendable. I will not deny you that."

Ikharos smiled hesitantly. "Thank you."

"I still cannot believe you killed the champion of the maw!" Melkris gushed. "What was it like to face Oryx?"

"Scary."

"How did you kill him?" Javek questioned.

"I put a beam of Arc through his heart. Even gods can't come back from a shattered soul."

"You are a creature of the Great Machine..."

Everyone went silent. Curiosities died away into a nervous concern. All eyes were on Paltis. She had hardly said a thing all night, seated beside the body of her mate. She ignored the stares and focused solely on Ikharos.

"What is it like?" She asked him.

Ikharos wracked his brain for an answer to encapsulate all his thoughts about the Traveler. In the end, he chose a single word. "Beautiful."

**000**

_Snatches of the Shade's memories continued to flash through Eragon. A whirlwind of dark events and emotions overwhelmed him, making it impossible to think. Submerged in the maelstrom, he knew neither who nor where he was. He was too weak to cleanse himself of the alien presence that clouded his mind. Violent, cruel images from the Shade's past exploded behind his eyes until his spirit cried out in anguish at the bloody sights._

_A pile of bodies rose before him … innocents slaughtered by the Shade's orders. He saw still more corpses—whole villages of them - taken from life by the sorcerer's hand or word. There was no escape from the carnage that surrounded him. He wavered like a candle flame, unable to withstand the tide of evil. He prayed for someone to lift him out of the nightmare, but there was no one to guide him. If only he could remember what he was supposed to be: boy or man, villain or hero, Shade or Rider; all was jumbled together in a meaningless frenzy. He was lost, completely and utterly, in the roiling mass._

_Suddenly a cluster of his own memories burst through the dismal cloud left by the Shade's malevolent mind. All the events since he had found Saphira's egg came to him in the cold light of revelation. His accomplishments and failures were displayed equally. He had lost much that was dear to him, yet fate had given him rare and great gifts; for the first time, he was proud of simply who he was. As if in response to his brief self-confidence, the Shade's smothering blackness assaulted him anew. His identity trailed into the void as uncertainty and fear consumed his perceptions. Who was he to think he could challenge the powers of Alagaësia and live?_

_He fought against the Shade's sinister thoughts, weakly at first, then more strongly. He whispered words of the ancient language and found they gave him enough strength to withstand the shadow blurring his mind. Though his defenses faltered dangerously, he slowly began to draw his shattered consciousness into a small bright shell around his core. Outside his mind he was aware of a pain so great it threatened to blot out his very life, but something - or someone - seemed to keep it at bay._

_He was still too weak to clear his mind completely, but he was lucid enough to examine his experiences since Carvahall. Where would he go now … and who would show him the way? Without Brom, there was no one to guide or teach him how to be as he was meant._

Come to me.

 _He recoiled at the touch of another consciousness - one so vast and powerful it was like a mountain looming over him. This was who was blocking the pain, he realized. Like Arya's mind, music ran through this one: deep amber-gold chords that throbbed with magisterial melancholy. Finally, he dared ask,_ Who... who are you?

One who would help. _With a flicker of an unspoken thought, the Shade's influence was brushed aside like an unwanted cobweb. Freed from the oppressive weight, Eragon let his mind expand until he touched a barrier beyond which he could not pass._ I have protected you as best I can, but you are so far away I can do no more than shield your sanity from the pain.

 _Again_ : Who are you to do this?

 _There was a low rumble._ I am Osthato Chetowä, the Mourning Sage. And Togira Ikonoka, the Cripple Who Is Whole. Come to me, Eragon, for I have answers to all you ask. You will not be safe until you find me.

But how can I find you if I don't know where you are? _He asked, despairing._

Trust Arya and go with her to Ellesméra - I will be there. I have waited many seasons, so do not delay or it may soon be too late.… You are greater than you know, Eragon. And you are in good hands. A hero has arrived. Trust in him. Trust in those the hero calls friends. You must listen to him... and you must make him listen.

A hero? _Eragon thought deeply, wracking his mind for such. He first imagined Brom, but he was gone. Tellesa? She was brave, and clearly ready to take the fight to those she thought to be evil, but she was only one person in a sea of millions. Then who?_

The angel, _he realized at last._

 _He sensed approval as he reached that conclusion._ You are learning, _said the Mourning Sage, drawing nearer. A vision passed from him to Eragon: a burst of color blossomed in his mind, resolving into a stooped figure dressed in white, standing on a sun-drenched stone cliff._ He must listen to your purpose. It is the fate of both you and him to walk through the lands of the elves. Now, it is time for you to rest, Eragon. When you wake, do not speak of me to anyone, _said the figure kindly, face obscured by a silver nimbus_ _._ Remember, you must go to the elves. As must he who banished the darkness. Now sleep... _He raised a hand, as if in prayer, and peace crept through Eragon._

* * *

"Wake," commanded a voice. "Awake, Eragon, for you have slept far too long." He stirred unwillingly, loath to listen. The warmth that surrounded him was too comfortable to leave. The voice sounded again. "Rise, Argetlam! You are needed!"

He reluctantly forced his eyes open and found himself on a long bed, swathed in soft blankets. Angela sat in a chair beside him, staring at his face intently. "How do you feel?" She asked.

Disoriented and confused, he let his eyes roam over the small room. "I… I don't know," he said, his mouth dry and sore.

"Then don't move. You should conserve your strength," said Angela, running a hand through her curly hair. Eragon saw that she still wore her flanged armor. _Why was that?_ A fit of coughing made him dizzy, lightheaded, and ache all over. His feverish limbs felt heavy. Angela lifted a gilt horn from the floor and held it to his lips. "Here, drink."

Cool mead ran down his throat, refreshing him. Warmth bloomed in his stomach and rose to his cheeks. He coughed again, which worsened his throbbing head. _How did I get here? There was a battle… we were losing… then..._ "Saphira!" he exclaimed, sitting upright. He sagged back as his head swam and clenched his eyes, feeling sick. "What about Saphira? Is she all right? The Urgals were winning… Durza!"

"She lives, he does not," Angela assured him. "You friends have been waiting for you to wake. Do you wish to see them?"

He nodded feebly. Angela got up and threw open the door. Arya, Tellesa and Murtagh filed inside. Saphira snaked her head into the room after them, her body too big to fit through the doorway. Her chest vibrated as she hummed deeply, eyes sparkling.

Smiling, Eragon touched her thoughts with relief and gratitude.

" _It is good to see you well, little one_ ," she said tenderly.

" _And you too, but how_ -?"

" _The others want to explain it, so I will let them_ _._ "

He smiled weakly, still confused, then looked at the others. Two of them were bandaged: Arya on her arm, Murtagh around his head. Murtagh grinned weakly. "About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall for hours."

"What … what happened?" asked Eragon.

Tellesa looked sad. But Murtagh crowed, "We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits - if that's what they were -flew across Farthen Dûr, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that! The Eliksni routed them after that!"

"Paltis and-?"

"No," Tellesa cut him off. "Kiphoris and his soldiers. They arrived just in time to turn the battle. They slaughtered what Urgals tried to fight back."

"They're all dead?" Eragon asked.

Murtagh shook his head. "No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was going to help, but an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."

"They aren't going to lock you up again?"

His face grew sober. "No one really cares about that right now. A lot of Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But at least you have cause to be happy. Durza is dead! The wizard slew him!"

"The... wizard?"

"Ikharos," Tellesa explained. "I told you about him."

Eragon frowned. "But I saw... an angel..."

Tellesa looked at him oddly. "I wouldn't call him an angel... He _does_ wields magic in a way that no else can, but..."

Arya shifted uncomfortably. Eragon almost missed it. "He carried you out of Tronjheim," she said quietly. "I didn't think we would reach you in time, but... he killed Durza. And lived."

"He arrived with the Eliksni," Murtagh explained. "They flew in on a metal creature! It was incredible!"

Saphira snorted irritably. " _It's not_ that _impressive..._ "

Tellesa sat on the edge of his bed. Her hands were shaking. "Eragon... there's something you should know."

Everyone went silent. A chill ran down his spine. "What happened?"

"Alkris is dead."

He stilled. Eragon's blood went cold. "But he..."

* * *

_Durza knocked his sword aside and swiftly jabbed forwards with the giant's knife. It ripped through metal, chitin, and bone, protruding from the other side of the Eliksni's torso. Alkris tensed up... then collapsed._

* * *

His breath caught in his throat. His eyes dropped down and welled with tears. "No..."

Saphira tried to squeeze in closer. " _I'm sorry, little one._ "

He let the tears flow. _Alkris... Gone. Like Brom. Like Garrow. Why?_

Tellesa continued. "Paltis and the other Eliksni mourn him. There will be a funeral on the morrow for all the fallen soldiers. I think they'll give him a proper sendoff then..."

He sucked in air. Eragon couldn't get enough. "I saw him fall... When Durza struck me down, he was there to defend me..."

" _Be strong. Alkris would say the same. He would not want you to wallow in despair._ "

Eragon nodded. He attempted to gather himself, to focus everything on what remained: duty. "What now?"

"Now? I advise rest," Angela said. "It has taken all my skill to keep you alive.

A twinge of unease shot through Eragon, matching the intensity of his throbbing head. _My back_... But he felt no bandages there. "How long have I been here?" he asked with trepidation.

"Only a day and a half," answered Angela. "You're lucky I was around, otherwise it would've taken you weeks to heal - if you had even lived."

Alarmed, Eragon pushed the blankets off his torso and twisted around to feel his back. Angela caught his wrist with her small hand, worry reflected in her eyes. "Eragon... you have to understand, my power is not like yours or even Ikharos'. It depends on the use of herbs and potions. There are limits to what I can do, especially with such a large-"

He yanked his hand out of her grip and reached back, fingers groping. The skin on his back was smooth and warm, flawless. Hard muscles flexed under his fingertips as he moved. He slid his hand toward the base of his neck and unexpectedly felt a hard bump about a half-inch wide. He followed it down his back with growing horror. Durza's blow had left him with a huge, ropy scar, stretching from his right shoulder to the opposite hip.

Pity showed on Arya's face as she murmured, "You have paid a terrible price for your bravery, Eragon."

Murtagh chuckled lowly. "Yes. Now you're just like me."

Dismay filled Eragon, and he closed his eyes. He was disfigured. Then he remembered something from when he was unconscious... a figure in white who had helped him. A cripple who was whole - Togira Ikonoka.

"Where is Ikharos now?" He asked.

Tellesa shrugged. "With the Eliksni, perhaps? We cannot know. He isn't... like most people. There will be a ceremony later. Ajihad and King Hrothgar wish to honour those who saved us. They want to thank the Eliksni for arriving in our time of need. I imagine he'll be there; everyone wants to meet him."

Eragon hardened his heart against the waves of misery. "I... need to meet him."

* * *

_The songs of the dead are the lamentations of the living._

So thought Eragon as he stepped over a twisted and hacked Urgal, listening to the keening of women who removed loved ones from the blood-muddied ground of Farthen Dûr. Behind him Saphira delicately skirted the corpse, her glittering blue scales the only color in the gloom that filled the hollow mountain. Tellesa led the way, and Murtagh and Arya trailed after her.

The Eliksni metal-creature was to the northern flats of Farthen Dûr, where the carnage of the battle was distant and forgotten. It stood motionless, in clear view of the dwarven city. There was motion around it, however, and moving figures, but Eragon could not discern anymore than that.

Since waking to find his wound healed by Angela, Eragon had tried two times to assist in the recovery effort with magic. On each occasion he had been racked by terrible pains that seemed to explode from his spine. The healers gave him various potions to drink. Arya and Angela said that he was perfectly sound. Nevertheless, he hurt. Nor could Saphira help, only share his pain as it rebounded across their mental link.

Before his uncle was slain by the Ra'zac months earlier, the brutality that Eragon had witnessed between the humans, dwarves, and Urgals would have destroyed him. Now it numbed him. He had realized, with Saphira's help, that the only way to stay rational amid such pain was to _do_ things. Beyond that, he no longer believed that life possessed inherent meaning - not after seeing men torn apart by barehanded Kul. If any honor existed in war, he concluded, it was in fighting to protect others from harm.

Like Ikharos had done.

His nerves were alight. He had no idea what to expect, beyond what Tellesa had told him. The wizard had slain Durza without taking injury, according to Arya. And he had single handedly killed three dozen Urgals in the field of battle, or so Murtagh said.

Saphira didn't like him. She had made that clear to him the moment he expressed in interest in meeting the man. Nor did the wizard appreciate her. Therein lay Eragon's difficulty: how to speak with a man who held no love for dragons when he, a Dragon Rider, was bonded mind and soul to one.

Eragon strived to be honest. He did not want - or need - another foe. He sought only to do as Togira Ikonoka instructed.

They walked until the strange metal insect loomed over them. An Eliksni stood by it, watching them curiously. It was dressed in full armour and idly tossed a knife from hand to hand. It called out, " _Da yus_?"

Tellesa answered with, "We're looking for Ikharos."

" _Ikha Riis_? _Yur_ Tellesa?"

"I… am?"

"You question your own name?" A deep, mirth-filled voice carried from the metal beast. A huge, hulking shape detached from it and walked out from under the insect's shadow. "Greetings, Tellesa."

"Kiphoris," Eragon breathed. The big Eliksni was a welcome sight.

The huge Eliksni dipped his head. "Eragon." His outer pair of eyes closed and he turned to address Saphira. "And Saphira. You have grown large, wind-daughter. And strong!"

" _And you have not changed_ _._ " Saphira moved closer, nostrils flaring. Eragon felt a trill of amusement on her end. " _You look well, Kiphoris_."

The Eliksni leader strode forward and tenderly laid a hand against Saphira's neck. She hummed pleasantly. "Ah, it is good to see you all with your minds and lives intact. I was worried when we picked up on the Shade's trail." His tone darkened with rage. "A twisted beast. It is good that it is dead..." His eyes opened. "Murtagh. Young hunter, I thought you would have left them."

Murtagh shrugged. "Fate decided otherwise."

"Fate is difficult to fight, this I know." Kiphoris looked past him. "Who is that?"

Arya stepped forward, wearing an unreadable expression. "I am Arya. Greetings, Kiphoris. I come representing Queen Islanzadí and the people of Du Weldenvarden"

"An elf, yes?"

For the first time, Eragon saw that Arya was surprised. "I am... How did you know?"

Kiphoris pointed to the side of her head. "Sharp-ears."

"We're looking for Ikharos," Tellesa said. Her voice was devoid of any cheer. Alkris' passing had hit her hardest of all the humans, it was clear to see. She still had his lightning-sword belted at her waist.

Kiphoris nodded understandingly. " _Eia_? He is to the back of the Skiff. He is assisting Javek with Obleker's maintenance." He hesitated. "Would be wary, Saphira. Ikharos does not appreciate dragons."

"Why?" Arya asked.

"History makes it so," Kiphoris answered cryptically. "I will bring you to him, but do not test his patience. His intents are fair and good, but he is capable of great harm if roused."

The big Eliksni led them around the 'Skiff' to where a scene unlike any Eragon had seen, or even dreamed, played out before him. Two figures, one human and one Eliksni, were working upon what he could only describe as a floating eye. It was black with a purple iris, and its hide looked to be made entirely of smooth metal. A large circular glass plate lay on the ground before it.

The human turned around and, upon seeing Saphira, sent them a sour look. "No!" He snapped. He stepped away from the eye and drew a strange-looking knife. "Scram, lizard!"

" _Ikha Riis_ -" Kiphoris began, but the man cut him off.

"Do _not_ test me. I will not play nice for a Traveler-damned dragon." He glared at Saphira so powerfully, so hatefully, that even Eragon felt like curling up into a ball and waiting for the danger to pass. She growled right back.

"Ikharos, they're friends," Tellesa tiredly reasoned.

The man, Ikharos, shook his head. "I won't tolerate it coming anywhere near me. I had my fill of dragons a hundred years ago. I won't stomach anymore of their insanity."

" _He is a stupid little man_ ," Saphira growled.

But Eragon was more preoccupied with what the man had said. " _A hundred years? He admits to having lived over a whole century!_ "

"What drives you to such hatred?" Arya suddenly asked.

The man's gaze never drifted from Saphira. "Experience."

"Experience? What experience would result in such ludicrousness?"

Ikharos' eyes narrowed. "The kind that ends in bloodletting and screaming. The kind that ends with good people dead. That kind of experience."

"Saphira hasn't hurt anyone undeserving," Tellesa defended.

"How long will that last, I wonder? Not long, I think. A big bitch like her needs lots of food."

Kiphoris barked in Eliksni too fast for Eragon to even hear the foreign words. He sounded angry. Ikharos, to the surprise of almost everyone present, responded in kind. Responded in Eliksni! And in a scathing manner to match the Captain, too. When he fell silent, Kiphoris sighed. "Saphira," he said. "It would be safest for us all if you would keep your distance from _Ikha Riis_."

" _He should watch his tone!_ " She snapped her jaws.

The big Eliksni narrowed his eyes. "Do not strike a fight, wind-daughter. You are not his equal in battle. To test him would be foolish. Leave him be and I will personally ensure he does the same. You have mine-word."

Ikharos glowered. "Fifty paces back. I won't ask again."

"Come on." Tellesa laid a hand on Saphira's flank. The dragon reluctantly backed away. She seethed with affronted rage.

Eragon couldn't understand why it all went wrong. He'd hoped to be able to talk Ikharos into seeing her as she truly was, but everything had happened so fast that he found himself left behind. He gulped and stepped forward.

Ikharos' eyes switched to him. They were a pale grey, and the gaze they offered was full of aged authority and deep wisdom. He was a thin man, but he was afforded with the wiry, compact musculature of an athlete, not a sword-bearing warrior. He wore long, flowing robes of cyan upon which danced flawless patterns of diamond shapes. His breastplate, boots, and pauldrons were of a silver metal that gleamed brightly in the morning's half-light. His bracers were strange - they looked to be made out of metallic feathers that shone blue, green, and purples. His gauntlets were of an oddcloth-like material, but over his knuckles and on three fingers was reinforced grey bone. Those armoured fingers ended in short claws. A golden circlet surrounded his right arm just above the elbow.

His facial features were gaunt and narrow, and yet they seemed bold. His hair was a faded auburn cut short, and a beard covered his strong jaw. His skin was almost pallid with lack of exposure. The most notable aspect had to be the large tri-clawed scar on the side of his head. It glowed an uneasy blue.

"What?" He demanded roughly.

Eragon quailed for a moment. "I, uh... wanted to thank you... for saving me."

"Why were you fighting Durza alone?" Ikharos frowned. "Why were you fighting at all?"

"I-"

"What, they make children fight for the adults?" He turned around and got right back to work. He took something from the Eliksni, who might have been Javek or Obleker but Eragon wasn't sure.

"I'm a Dragon Rider," Eragon blurted. "I had to fight. It was expected of me."

"I wouldn't expect it of you."

Eragon didn't know how to respond to that. Ikharos continued on regardless.

"You're... what? Fifteen?"

"Sixteen."

"That's not any better. You're a child. You shouldn't have fought a battle, end of story."

Ikharos held up whatever it was the Eliksni handed him and... his palm shone purple. No, not just his palm, his eyes too. Eragon took a step back as strange energies flowed towards the wizard and wreathed him in violet power. The spectacle ended as quickly as it began, and he pressed the object into the floating eye. The strange entity hummed in a way that Eragon could only describe as jovial.

Ikharos patted it affectionately. "You are a beauty, Obleker. A magnificent, incredible machine. And in excellent condition too. Javek takes good care of you, doesn't he?"

Obleker whirred happily.

"What... what is that?" Murtagh asked with breathless wonder.

"You mean Obleker? A Servitor. They are made by and work for the Eliksni."

"What did you-"

Ikharos turned around. "What did I do? That's what you want to know?"

"Yes?" Murtagh said after a moment's hesitation.

The wizard quietened, then said something in Eliksni to Kiphoris. Kiphoris nodded and said something back. Ikharos shrugged and looked back at Murtagh. "I was charging up his Void cores. We were experimenting. We wanted to know if cores filled with Void Light last longer than those naturally charged."

"I don't... understand..."

"We wanted to know if feeding Obleker magic is better than feeding him sunlight and old fossils."

"Oh." Murtagh didn't sound like he understood any better. Eragon was just as lost.

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Why are you all here?"

Eragon shifted uncomfortably. "I... wanted to speak with you."

"Is that so, dragon-pet?" His gaze was unwaveringly stern. Eragon was under no illusions that this man was in charge of their conversation. If he wished it over, then it would end. They were relying on the wizard's continued tolerance and there was no telling how long that would last. "Is it urgent or can it wait? There's things I have to do, and I don't fancy yammering all day."

Arya stared at the man in that same unreadable gaze she had given Kiphoris. "He is a Dragon Rider, not dragon-pet."

"I don't care."

Eragon winced. _This is going poorly. What cause does he have to hate dragons so much?_ "It is of importance," he said. "Neither I or Saphira intend you any harm. We come in peace."

"Swear it."

It was the opening he needed. Eragon quickly rushed over the words he needed. " _Nosu eru fricaya. Vae ach néiat threyja orono vanta eom faedhír onr. Eka aíran threyja eom thorta medh onr._ "

Ikharos nodded, albeit slowly. "And your dragon? I heard no mention of it."

" _Saphira threyja du samr hlutr ai eka ach._ "

The wizard blinked. "Fine. You're not enemies. Still, that dragon doesn't get any closer."

"But-"

"Humour me. Think of it as my little quirk. I don't like being near dragons."

**000**

Tarok panted and scrabbled for purchase on the cave wall. He couldn't see a thing.

Something skittered by his leg. He jumped and thrust down with his rusted blade. He heard a squelch and then a dying squeak. _Just a rat._

He looked around fruitlessly. No light. No way out. Panic bubbled up in his throat, his heart. His stomach churned with horror as he realized he could smell nothing but the stale, musty odor of uncharted tunnels. And dwarf. He didn't know which was worse: getting lost or encountering more dwarves.

It had been a small while since he woke from the Shade's spell. The moment he did, he knew he had to leave. The battle had turned the moment those four-armed creatures arrived. They ripped through ranks of _Urgralgra_ with terrifying ease. He didn't want to wait around to test their might himself.

Tarok shuffled along, mindful of his every step. There could be a drop ahead and he wouldn't know it until it was too late. It was yet another danger, and his panic and animalistic terror only grew and grew.

He didn't want to get lost in the caves.

He didn't want to meet any dwarves.

He didn't want the four-arms to find him.

" _Do you want to live?_ "

Tarok frowned and winced as a needle of starlight pricked his mind. Did he want to live? Of course he did! Everything wanted to live!

" _Do you want to see the light of day again?_ "

Yes!

" _Do you wish it?_ "

He wished it!

" _Then follow my voice... O wanderer mine..._ "


	38. Under the Mountain

"Where will you go?" The boy asked. There was something in his voice that caught Ikharos' attention. It wasn't an innocent question. He wanted something, and not just the chance to sate his curiosities.

"Wherever the wars take me," Ikharos grunted.

"Wars?" The elf asked. She seemed bright. He expected that from her kind. Being in proximity to another elf for months on end had taught him that much. "More than one?"

For a fleeting moment he allowed himself to feel nothing but sympathy for the children gathered before them. A tidal wave of violence was coming to sweep them, and everything they knew, away. "Yes, multiple. But they're already in the throes of coming together in one massive bloodfeud. And it's going to change the world."

The elf didn't believe him, that was clear from the get-go. But the boys were deep in thought. They looked... worried. That was positive. They needed to see the threat for what it was.

"But, in all likelihood, I'll be returning to the Scars," Ikharos added. "I've got a deal going with their leader, Tarrhis."

"What kind of deal?" Murtagh asked.

"A ' _you scratch my back I scratch yours_ ' kind. We've got mutual enemies to kill, and those who aren't so mutual we'll still end up killing. I'll doubtless have another target to take down."

"An apt way to put it," Kiphoris murmured. The Captain stepped closer to get a better look at the Servitor. "Ah, you look better than ever! Perhaps a new coat of paint would suit you?"

Obleker whined like a robotic puppy. It melted Ikharos' resolve. Javek whispered his praises for the adorable Servitor and led it back to the Skiff.

Leaving Ikharos with Kiphoris and a bunch of local children.

His nerves didn't jump. His heart didn't hammer in his chest. His stomach didn't churn with terrified butterflies. He had been inured to the Wolf's presence. Strange, that.

Ikharos refocused on the children. "Just speak your mind," he told the Rider. The youth froze. "Yeah, you're not subtle. I see your intent. What is it you want from me?"

The Rider, who's name escaped him, hesitated. "I... would like it if you stayed. A little longer."

"So your dragon can call in enough friends to eat me?"

The boy was horrified. "No!"

"I agree with Eragon," Kiphoris said. He sent Ikharos a pointed look. "Saphira would not eat you."

"Her friends might," Ikharos grumbled.

"More dragons? There are no other dragons. And she is no maker of wishes."

Something touched his mind. A presence full of music and fire. Formora. " _I hear raised voices._ "

" _The dragon's here._ "

" _Really? Be polite and respectful._ "

" _Too late._ "

" _Why would you_ _-_ "

" _It's a dragon._ "

" _Very observant. Yes, I'm aware she is a dragon. My point stands._ "

" _I refuse._ "

" _Why?_ "

" _Principle._ "

" _What principle would that be?_ "

" _That I don't deal with dragons._ "

The mental equivalent of a sigh came from the other end. " _You make my life difficult._ "

" _I didn't ask it to come here._ "

" _I'm on my way._ "

" _I could kill it._ "

" _If you kill her I'll be very upset._ "

Ikharos rolled his eyes and sighed. To Eragon he said, "I've got a lot to do. Is there a reason I should stay?"

"The Varden could use your help," the boy answered resolutely.

"Doing what? Hiding in a mountain? There's people who are in a lot of danger right now. More than the people in here." He paused. "The Urgals are shattered. There aren't enough left to pose any significant threat, even if they did somehow rally themselves. Look, I can talk to Tarrhis and request that he send some aid if the Varden needs it, but we're all backed into corners. I'm needed elsewhere - as soon as I figure out where elsewhere is."

"What threat do you speak of?" The elf asked. She was asking all the right questions. It was getting on his nerves.

"The Cabal," Ikharos replied. The boys and elf blinked back, uncomprehending. "They're foreign conquerors. Bigger and a whole lot smarter than Kull. Better equipped too. The Scars and I bloodied their nose at Ceunon, but only that. They aren't beaten, so they'll try their damnedest to hit back. And nothing here, nothing in Alagaësia, will be able to put up a fight."

Kiphoris huffed, unimpressed.

"Aside from the Scars, that is."

"Why do they want?" The other boy frowned.

"Land. Slaves. Glory. The usual." Ikharos drummed his fingers against Lumina's holster. He was getting antsy. The dragon was still too close for his liking. It was small, but size wasn't an issue when it came to those beasts.

" _But it's_ not _one of those beasts_ ," Xiān whispered. " _You said it yourself_."

" _I could have been wrong._ "

" _You could have been right. Don't be the aggressor. If it turns out to be a monster, kill it. But we can't kill something based on what it_ might _be. It's... unethical._ "

" _We shouldn't treat with an Ahamakra. The risks-_ "

" _We're both well aware of the risks, yes, but everything's pointing to it not being an Ahamkara. I'm not just here to carry your stuff and bring you back to life, you know. I'm here to warn you out of bad decisions. We're a team, Ikharos. And I don't think you should do anything that might turn the locals against us. We had so few allies already. Kiphoris vouches for her!_ "

" _Kiphoris authorized the presence of a conscious Ahamkara feather in the Skiff. His judgement isn't something I'd immediately trust in._ "

Formora arrived not long after. She greeted everyone with a cordial tone and polite words, even the dragon. The other elf eyed her distrustfully, but then again she'd looked at Ikharos the same way so he didn't think there was any reason to worry.

"When will you leave?" Eragon asked all of a sudden.

Ikharos shrugged. "Two days? Three? It depends."

"On what?"

"You're awfully curious, aren't you?"

Eragon looked down. "I..."

Ikharos exhaled. "Look, if you're here out of gratitude, forget it. I'm not interested in gratitude. I just want peace and quiet. Can you give me that?"

The Rider nodded. "I'm sorry," he muttered. When he left, the others went with him. The elf sent Ikharos a hard, judging look that didn't bother him in the slightest. When Tellesa avoided meeting his eyes, though - that hurt.

The moment they were out of earshot, Kiphoris smacked his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You were harsh," the Captain reprimanded. "They are only children."

"I know that, but it doesn't- Ow!"

"Do not excuse yourself."

"That _was_ rude," Formora added. "There was no need for it."

Ikharos rubbed his shoulder. "That was me being nice. I told you both too many times that I hate dragons. I will _not_ play their games. I don't care if it's a full-fledged Ahamkara or not. Unless you want me to kill them, keep any dragons you have away from me. Next time I won't be so gentle."

Kiphoris growled and stalked off. " _Psesiskar_ _..._ "

"Why can't you make our lives easier?" Formora made an exasperated sound. "Tell me, then, what's so wrong about dragons? Why can't you accept them like your brethren did?"

Ikharos clenched his jaw. "They killed my best friend."

* * *

_Gone. She was gone. Not there. Not even a shred of cloth left._

_Only a knife._

* * *

"They... Oh." Formora's tone softened. "Then it's a grudge?"

"Every hatred is based on a grudge."

"I understand, then, the reasoning, but you cannot hold all dragons responsible."

"Why not? They'd happily do the same."

"No. An Ahamkara perhaps, but not the dragons I know. My dragon wouldn't. She was sweet and considerate. She would never have taken an innocent life."

"How well did you know her?"

Formora stared at him. Then she hit him. Hard. Ikharos flinched, but before he could mount an accusation, she snapped, "Never say such a thing again. Never. She was a part of my soul, just as Xiān is part of yours. I have been patient with you, but that ends now. Open your eyes, Ikharos. Saphira is not an Ahamkara. She does not feed on desires. She does not seek your death. She is an independent being capable of immense intellect. She is a _person_. You need to respect that."

He went quiet. He didn't trust himself not to say something insensitive. "I need to ready up," he announced stiffly. "We're due in the city in a couple of hours."

Ikharos walked away.

**000**

They were making a wall of solid scrapmetal topped with razor-wire around the camp. Tlac thought it utter nonsense. All it did was keep out the wind. The native pests still got inside. Any Eliksni craft could fly right over to deposit troops. It wouldn't even give the Beast any trouble

That was what they called the titanic shadow creature. The Beast.

No one had any idea what it was. Flayers, himself included, likened it to a Hive Ascendant. But it wasn't Hive. That was the consensus. And the hope.

"Our hold here is tenuous," Neuroc remarked. "This world is different. It's wild, untamed. Dangerous. There are forces at work here. Forces I fear we cannot understand."

He found himself nodding along. "First the human, now the Beast. Traveler dogma and Darkness theology. They are bane of the order we bring to the galaxy." He eyed the walls surrounding them with vicious distaste. "This fear doesn't suit us. We're kicking back in the dirt and hoping to go unnoticed. I hate it."

"You believe we should go on the offensive?"

"That's where our strength lies. Offense. Always advance, always conquer."

His compatriot smiled. "Then you may be pleased to hear that the Primus has... well, not quite changed his mind, but he's decided on a change of direction."

"Not here." Tlac looked around. No one was watching, and he couldn't feel anything duplicitous on their minds. Those nearby were either engaged in their work with the thoughtless abandon of Uluru single-mindedness or watching for exterior threats.

No one was worried about the dangers already within the walls. No one but the Soulrazers.

"Come on." Tlac walked quickly to the Soulrazer field office. It hadn't changed in the slightest since they'd first built it up. Everyone had been under the impression that camp would be temporary back then. Ceunon was supposed to be their first true stronghold. But the human had sunk those plans.

* * *

Zhonoch was at his desk, quietly tapping away at a datapad. He didn't look up as they arrived.

"Val Ma'roch and Centurion Shu'av are dead," he announced. "Their troops turned on them."

Neuroc stilled. "They did _what_?!"

"Traitors, the lot of them. We burned their remains."

"What really happened?" Tlac leaned on the desk. "Infected?""

Zhonoch nodded grimly. "I marched Ma'roch and Shu'av fifteen chrens out of camp and gutted them. Their regiments were compromised. Couldn't take a chance. "

"Was that wise?"

"Doesn't matter now. It's done." The Uluru scoffed. "Waste of talent. Bloody cultists."

Neuroc cleared her throat. "Sir. There's been a development."

Zhonoch raised his tired eyes. "Speak, Flayer."

"Primus Da'aurc has authorized the Erachaani Auxiliary Potentate to sweep out and gather intelligence. He wants them to catch the human's scent."

Zhonoch went quiet. Dangerously so. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a whisper. "He wants Ruuskn... to find Subject Merida-X8?"

"Yes."

"Then he's a fool. No, worse. A traitorous fool!"

Neuroc narrowed her eye. "The Erechaani are specialized in chase-and-destroy warfare. Their expertise might be exactly what we need to catch the human unawares."

"And we'd lose them in the process! The Eliksni will eat them alive!"

 _Wouldn't that be an ironic twist_ , Tlac reflected. It was usually the other way around.

"But the human will be dead," Neuroc argued.

Zhonoch scowled. "And we'll be without Auxiliaries. Who would otherwise be sorely needed. This is a wild frontier world, not another Hive battleground. We have no back up, no resources beyond what we gather ourselves, and only so many soldiers."

"I thought you _wanted_ to go on the offensive."

"Only if we do it smart! This isn't smart! Da'aurc is _killing_ us! And the rest are too blind to see the sacrificial knife in his hand!"

Neuroc paused. "What do you propose, Vigilant? The Erechaani are set to march within the local hour."

Zhonoch sighed and deflated. "Nothing. We need him dead, and quick, but if we mess up he'll use any hint of aggression as permission to kill us off. So we wait. We watch. In time he'll slip up. Traitors always do. And we'll be there to push him over the edge."

**000**

They marched, the three of them, into Tronjheim's great hall under the silent, wonderous gaze of hundreds of people. Ikharos had never been in a parade before. He always refused when offered a place, even during the celebration of Oryx's fall. Having countless people watch him walk? It didn't appeal to him. Not at all.

Not that he had much choice here. Kiphoris had made it clear that they were all going to present themselves both honourably and graciously at the glorified thank-you ceremony. The Captain could be a stern, firm leader when he wanted to be.

Ikharos couldn't honestly think of any better representative for the Eliksni race. If they sought to leave a good impression on the peoples of Kepler, then Kiphoris was the right choice. He was bright, intelligent, tactical, patient, and most importantly, understanding. Aside from when he spoke with Ikharos, the Captain was more altruistic with humans than the Warlock expected of any Eliksni, especially a former Wolf. That earned Ikharos' respect, more than anything else.

Formora was another wise choice. Even when masked and, appearance-wise, insidious, she held herself with in a proud, graceful manner that he imagined would only reflect well on their little cohort. She represented nothing and no one, but her presence was necessary all the same. She was their link to Kepler. She knew the land and people much more closely than any of them. And she knew the ancient language. In a world where even normal baseline humans could access magic, they needed a way to protect themselves from binding words and fatal spells.

Melkris and Eldrin followed, armed to the teeth. They were playing honour guard for the day. Their armour, like everyone's, had been polished and scrubbed until it gleamed. All the present Eliksni moved with vibrant energy and looked around with bright eyes; the heavy drinking the night before had a two-fold purpose - to honour Alkris and prepare them for public presentation the next day.

Humans and dwarves in equal numbers lined the wide stone road, held back by warriors in leather and mail. They gawked and stared with open interest and some measure scepticism. There was a trace of fear, too, when they laid eyes upon the forms of the tall, many-armed Eliksni.

" _I love the little people_ ," Xiān gushed. " _They're so cute. Can we bring one with us?_ "

Ikharos kept his sight trained on the other end of the great hall, where a massive gate loomed above. " _That would be abduction. No._ "

" _What if they're willing?_ "

" _No one in their right mind would be willing to go where we go._ "

" _So pick an insane dwarf, got it._ "

Ikharos exhaled slowly. " _No dwarves. We're not bringing anyone with us._ "

" _You're no fun._ "

He didn't answer. It would only galvanize her into further bouts of nonsense. He kept his attention on his pace. First foot and second foot, first foot and second foot.

It got boring real quick. But then the doors were there. And the doors opened. And there was more hall beyond, with more people.

Ikharos sighed. On he marched.

* * *

The final big hall was more sparsely populated. The few people present wore more expensive clothes than those behind. Nobles, Ikharos deducted, or the dwarven and Varden equivalent.

Massive stalagmites and stalactites lined the wall. The room was a natural cave with a wide path, and on either side stood statues of past leaders sat in stone chairs. A throne of black marble waited at the far end, upon which sat an elderly dwarf. Those who were, assumedly, the most important in Tronjheim flanked the throne. A small group of dwarves, no more than five, stood on one side while on the other were humans such Ajihad and Eragon, the mage from the day of battle and another man who was in every visible way his clone, and two grizzled soldiers. There was only one elf - Arya.

And one dragon.

Kiphoris none-too-subtly moved to keep the dragon out of Ikharos' sight. The Warlock, for his part, pressed down on a growing pit of irritation and ignored the dragon's presence entirely. If he didn't pay it any attention maybe it would disappear.

The dwarven king wore a fine golden crown encrusted with beautiful jewels. His face, on the other hand, was lined and grizzled with age. The stark contrast was striking and startlingly impressive

They stopped twenty feet from the throne. Kiphoris drew two knives. The dwarven guards arrayed around the room tensed, but the Captain went no farther. He arrayed the knives in an _ireliis_ bow. With a third hand held palm out, fingers splayed, he laid one of the knives on the ground pointed towards his feet. Kiphoris bowed his head and said, " _Velask_. Greetings. _Ne Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir go Na Kelekhselen_. I am Kiphoris the Dreamer, Captain of the Scar House. _Ra hu bo Na_. Let there be peace between the banners of our houses."

The old dwarf's face crinkled with a smile. His eyes shone with a keen, wizened intelligence. "I am Hrothgar, clan-chief of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum and king of dwarves. I welcome you into my hall and my city, Kiphoris of the Scars."

Kiphoris sheathed his knives and lifted his head. "You have mine-thanks, _Hrothgar-kel_ , for hospitality and patience. I represent mine-people and mine-Baron, Tarrhis the Oathkeeper, and mine-Kell, Mezha."

Hrothgar's gaze glided over to Ikharos. "And what of your companions, Kiphoris? They are not Eliksni."

The Warlock didn't bow, didn't curtsy, didn't make any move. He'd never bowed to Mara Sov, not once, so there was no chance of prostrating himself before the dwarven king. "I represent me and myself. I'm Ikharos Torstil."

"The Shadeslayer," one the dwarves added reverently.

Ikharos frowned. "Ye-es..."

"You have slain the Shade who sought to take my city and destroy my people. For that you have my thanks. Dûrgrimst Ingeitum are forever indebted to you." Hrothgar scrutinized him. "But first, I must ask, who are you? Where do you come from?"

Ikharos expected that. Kepler's people were obsessed with those places they called home. Not so with Earth. Places never defined people. Experiences did.

"A land far away," he answered. He opted against telling the full truth. It would spark trouble he could do without. "My life began in the city of London, but I've traveled far and wide over the years. I live where I am, wherever that may be."

"You are not of the empire?" Hrothgar asked.

"No."

"Then... you are a stranger to Alagaësia's shores, much like the Eliksni." A thoughtful look crossed the dwarf's visage. "We are fortunate indeed that you have all chosen to oppose Galbatorix when it is not your land or your kin that the usurper threatens."

Ikharos shrugged. It wasn't a very formal gesture, but he wasn't a delicate diplomat.

The dwarf frowned, but he offered no complaint. Instead, he diverted his attention to Formora. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Warrior, will you not remove your helmet?"

"I would rather not, Clan-Chief Hrothgar," she replied in a polite, thought uncompromising, tone.

"Why is that?"

"I am the person you see before you, not the one beneath the mask. This is who I choose to be, and who I choose for others to see. If it causes offence, I apologize, but I will not reveal myself."

"What is your name?"

"Zeshus."

Hrothgar hummed curiously. "A strange name."

"It is an Eliksni word. They gifted it to me."

"Earned through battle," Kiphoris added.

"I'm no foe," Formora continued. "I've already sworn to the Varden and the elven ambassador both that I am no ally of Galbatorix. The usurper is my enemy, just as he is yours."

Hrothgar looked at her in thoughtful silence for a solid minute. In the end, he said, "So be it. Keep to your privacy, Zeshus." He took a deep breath and fell back into his throne. "A debt is owed. You have all placed yourself in harm's way for us, and that must be rewarded."

"I want the same thing as Zeshus," Ikharos said. He sent Eragon a pointed look. "Privacy."

" _Be nice._ "

" _I'm being as nice as I can be, given the circumstances._ "

" _Then be nicer._ "

" _No._ "

Kiphoris stepped forward. "Noble _Hrothgar-kel_ , I have led mine-crew in defense of your people and home. I fought the Urgals and sent them scurrying like pests. You speak of rewards. There is only one thing that I would ask for on behalf of mine-kin. We desire only the ability to purchase metals from your people. Your methods of mining are impressive, and we are in need of resources."

Hrothgar's eyes twinkled. "Such a reward is trifling, but it may be to the benefit of both our peoples. Yet I must ask, what would you pay my people with for their services?"

The Captain reached to a satchel at his belt and pulled out a handful of bright Glimmer cubes. The dwarves - and some of the humans too - gasped at the sight of the glowing material.

"Your people pick through rocks and extract metals with great skill, while mine-people do the same with Glimmer," Kiphoris declared. "It can be formed into great structures in the hands of a skilled weaver, or turned to fuel machines of all kinds. If this does not suit, then my people may be willing to share secrets of metal and electricity, which would allow you to build machines of your own."

"Machines?" Hrothgar questioned in a quiet voice. He leaned forward with poorly-concealed eagerness.

 _The bane of kings is greed and ambition_ , Ikharos reflected grimly.

Kiphoris pointed back the way they came. "The vessel we arrived in a Skiff-machine, not a beast as your people call it. Mine-people built it for the purpose of flight. Armour and weapons were added for the purpose of battle. It draws power from the Glimmer we feed it, which enables its movement." He turned to Eldrin. The Marauder nodded and brought out a small handheld torch. He flicked it on. A beam of light shone up at the ceiling.

The natives gasped once more. It would have been hilarious if it wasn't so pitifully sad.

" _Nezarec has a lot to answer for. He's deprived these people of better lives. How many plagues and famines have they suffered because they don't have the tools to help themselves?_ " Ikharos exhaled slowly in an attempt to keep his calm. " _I don't want to know how many died because of it. I bet it's already in the millions._ "

" _We'll get him_ _,_ " Xiān promised. " _We're here now. The tables have turned. We already have his servants worried. Nezarec won't sleep easy._ "

" _But he needs to stay asleep, uneasily or not. At least until we've killed enough of his pets. If he wakes up... it'll be the moon all over again. He'll destroy everything, like Crota almost did._ "

* * *

The bargaining between Kiphoris and Hrothgar went swimmingly. The Captain handed over the torch as an act of goodwill. Ikharos didn't know whether to be impressed or disgusted with him. It was of a low cunning trademark of all Eliksni, and the dwarves were none the wiser.

The Wolf had bought an alliance with a Traveler-damned flashlight. Ikharos decided on being impressed - after all, the dwarves loved their new toy. If they were fine with it, so was he.

The moment the agonizingly slow proceedings were over, he attempted to locate Tellesa. The mere thought of her gave rise to a bubble of guilt that he couldn't shake. He doubted she was in a good way. Alkris' death was just one more tragedy to lug onto everything else she'd suffered.

He eventually found her in the vast training yard. Most of the fighters in the mountain were recovering - physically or mentally - from the battle and avoiding combat, but a few diehard soldiers sparred and trained with one another. Tellesa was working with Murtagh and another of the Varden's people, honing her swordcraft.

Tellesa saw him coming and grunted a wordless greeting. She wore a sleeveless tunic and linen wrappings around her forearm. Her hair had been recently cut short in a ragged fashion.

Her opponent, Murtagh, was just as good as she was. He was faster and accustomed to the blade, but she was strong and alert. Tellesa played defensively, weathering his assault and waiting for him to tire.

The third man turned around and flinched. "Sir! I mean-"

"Call him Ikharos," Tellesa hissed through clenched teeth. She caught Murtagh's weapon in a lock and roughly shouldered him. He stumbled back and almost lost his footing, but he was quick to recover and move back in with renewed determination.

The nameless soldier was bearded and garbed in a suit of coarse ox-hide. He leaned on a tall steel greatsword. Ikharos looked it over with a faint look of disapproval. It looked monstrous and powerful, but in the hands of a Guardian it would snap like a twig.

Not a sword for him, then. He would have to stick with the Eternity Edge.

He returned watching the fight play out. Murtagh was better than Tellesa - but only where blades were concerned. She held her own by being more physical and brutish with her own attacks. It came to an end when Tellesa diverted a thrust and smashed the guard of her shock blade into the boy's face with a heavy crack. He dropped.

Murtagh looked up with dazed, unfocused eyes. Blood ran from his nose. "Ow!"

Tellesa grabbed his hand and dragged him back to his feet. "Oh, don't be childish. It was a fair strike."

"It _hurt_!"

"Well... be more cautious next time."

Murtagh glowered and tenderly felt his face. "I think you broke my nose."

"I was only rearranging it. It didn't look right where it was."

"Very funny."

"I thought the same."

Ikharos held up a hand full of golden energy. Everyone turned to look at him. "I could heal that," he offered.

Murtagh glanced at Tellesa. She responded with a slow nod. The boy stared at Ikharos with hard, untrusting eyes. "Alright."

The Warlock let the Light spill out onto the boy. His nose, and all those bruises he accumulated over the fight, rapidly recovered.

"Thank you," Murtagh said. He sounded surprised.

Ikharos frowned. "What did you think I was going to do?"

"I don't know."

"Something nefarious," Tellesa supplied. She grabbed a rag from the old soldier and wiped the grime from her sword. "Never know with spellcasters."

"I'm not just a spellcaster," Ikharos reminded her.

She smiled. "Yes, I almost forgot. You can punch people too."

"Exactly. I'm glad you think so highly of me."

"I do, you know," Tellesa said with unexpected seriousness. "That's no joke." She let out a heavy sigh. "Gods, I'm so tired. It's just one misery after another. Mother, Father, Kuirst, Rendan, Brom, and now Alkris. I lose them all."

"Sometimes it helps to talk," Ikharos advised, in a voice that was just as low. "But I've found the best recovery comes from taking action. What you're doing now is good. Let it out."

"Just not on me," Murtagh groaned. "I'd rather not go through that again."

Tellesa grinned. It was weak and faltering, but it was there and that was the important thing.

"How about me?" Ikharos undid his bracers and gloves and let them drop to the ground. "You look like someone who wants to punch something. Want to punch me?"

"Not swords?"

"I left mine on the Skiff."

"That's unusually lax of you."

He shrugged; he had no excuse. "Yeah, it is."

Tellesa put her sword aside and held up her arms in a basic guard. It was good. For an amateur brawler.

"No," Ikharos showed her a proper guard. "Want to fight or want to learn?" As a bonus, he told Murtagh and the as-yet-unnamed soldier, "Watch, you two."

Tellesa fixed him with an insulted look. "I can throw a punch."

"I'm sure you can, but there's more to fighting than hitting the other guy until he stops moving. Fighting is an art, and must be honed like any other skill."

"He's right," the nameless soldier nodded vigorously. He held out a hand. "I'm Fredric, sir."

"Ikharos." The Warlock shook it. The other man had a strong grip. "There's a lot of forms, but only a few have survived to now. Classical wrestling is a favourite among Titans, but Hunters and Warlocks find the art of krav maga effective against a great range of opponents. Even better yet, if you sprinkle in a touch of _Den'Ki_ -

"You're doing it again," Tellesa interrupted.

Ikharos frowned, confused. "Doing what?"

"Saying things that don't make any sense."

"I was getting to it." He counted to five before resuming. " _Den'Ki_ is an Eliksni fighting style that focuses on speed and disabling blows. A bar fight can last minutes with both sides beating the brains out of one another, but trained combatants can take down opponents in seconds without any need for a physical weapon. I thought you might like to pick some up a few more skills. You took to your previous lessons very well."

Tellesa didn't say anything for a long moment. "... The Eliksni one. I want to start with that."

" _Den'Ki_?"

She nodded.

Ikharos considered it. "Alright. It might be more favourable, what with all the Eliksni around. Easy to find the right people to spar with."

"What does it mean? _Den'Ki_?"

"Forever-Strength. It has quite the history. I've heard that it was originally developed by the House of Stone as a tool of self-defence, but every other house adopted it with their own... flavours."

"Flavours?"

"Differing methods. Each house approaches it differently. Wolves play waiting games, Devils rush in with berserk rage, Kings dance with graceful power, and Winter goes for all-out defense. I think Scars focus on offense, but I haven't fought any Scars to the death yet, so my experience on their form isn't nearly as... developed."

Tellesa frowned. "You fought Eliksni?"

"I fought a lot of things, Eliksni included."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine, be vague. Which ' _flavour_ ' do you prefer?"

"The Kings'. They're up there with Wolves for being the best fighters, but don't tell Kiphoris I said that."

"Why not?"

"Because he's a former Wolf, that's why. It'll hurt his feelings and I'll have an irate Captain to deal with." Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "I mean it. Don't tell him."

Tellesa chuckled. "I wouldn't want him to get upset." Her gaze sharpened. "Can we begin or are you going to keep talking?"

Ikharos rolled his eyes. "I swear, you kids these days have no respect for your elders."

**000**

Kiphoris was a good Captain. He made sure of that. He followed orders, he cared for his crew, and he made what he thought to be the best possible decisions for his house. He didn't want wealth. He didn't want to hoard ether. He didn't want to prove himself in battle. All he wanted was to help his people.

But he didn't know how to help Paltis.

She was still by the body, grieving with quiet murmurs and the odd tear. She hadn't just lost her mate - she'd lost the focus of her life.

Kiphoris was no stranger to loss. He wasn't unfamiliar with the feeling of complete emptiness that followed the deaths of loved ones. But he'd never lost a mate. He never had one. He had been courted, and in turn courted others, but never had he taken a mate.

Looking at Paltis, he didn't think he wanted to have one. It looked like too much pain to be worth all the effort and love.

Eldrin, though, was someone he could help. The Marauder grieved too, but his grief was based on lost comrades and friends. A pain they shared. And, like Melkris said, a sorrow shared was a sorrow lightened.

"We will bury them all on the morrow," he announced.

Eldrin looked up from where he was cleaning his sword. His eyes narrowed. "We do not have their bodies."

"We have their cloaks."

The Marauder looked down. Cloaks weren't bodies, but it was all they had. Kiphoris was glad the Aphelion was dead. It was a deserved fate.

"We should not be here," Eldrin growled.

Kiphoris fought the urge to raise his voice. "Why not?"

"Because humans are not our responsibility. They are not our house." The Marauder stood. "We should never have dealt with them at all. Your love for them has blinded you."

He kept his cool. Kept his calm. He kept his arms by his sides and his mouth shut. Kiphoris had to set an example. He couldn't rise to the bait.

Even if the bait hit really close to home.

"Why are their lives more valuable than ours?" Eldrin pointed outside the Skiff. "They are weak and insignificant! What use are they to-"

"Be silent!" Paltis all but roared.

Eldrin, ever the perfect little soldier, did as he was told even if it chafed his pride.

"The humans are not to blame. They are victims of this world, just as we are."

He didn't like that. Kiphoris could tell by his burning eyes. But he kept his mouth shut and mandibles still.

A knock rang from the back of the Skiff. Hard knuckles rapping against steel. Kiphoris turned around.

It was the elf. Not _their_ elf. The other one. With the strange tattoo on her shoulder and the hard, haunted look she tried so hard to hide.

Then again, Formora had that look too. Perhaps it was a universal elvish trait.

"Kiphoris?" She asked cautiously.

He decidedly ignored Eldrin's glowering visage and stepped out of the Skiff. " _Eia_ , that is my name. And you are Arya. That is your name."

She graced him with a fleeting smile. "It is."

"Very good. We know our names."

"We do."

" _Eia_." He looked at her. She looked at him. "What are you here for?"

"I... wish to speak with you."

"Then speak."

She closed her eyes and stopped for a moment to gather her thoughts. She wasn't very expressive for a human. Elves, he learned, were very... _private_ creatures. They kept themselves in little self-imposed cages. It couldn't have been healthy, but he had no right to tell them otherwise.

"As you may know, Eragon and Saphira are due to enter training as befits their station. Brom was intended to teach them here, but as Brom has... passed..."

The old man. Kiphoris banished all traces of amusement from his mind. He stood straighter and kept all his eyes open. "I was there," He said softly. Carefully. "I am sorry we could not help him."

Arya nodded stiffly. "As Brom has passed," she resumed, "they will have to move onto the next stage of their training: studying with my people. I have already discussed it with Ajihad. We will give them time, but soon they must make the journey to Du Weldenvarden. As I understand it, you... assigned soldiers to safeguard them on their journey. And that your Eliksni are the reason they avoided capture from the empire."

Kiphoris tilted his head. "That is true. Why do you... Ah. You want our protection once more."

Arya didn't deny it. "Eragon and Saphira are important. They will need people to defend them. From what I gather, from what I have seen, your warriors are as skilled as they are devoted to their duty. The journey may prove treacherous. Their assistance would be more than welcome. "

He sighed. "This is not a good time to ask. Five of mine-crew are dead. We must organize their farewells."

Arya dropped her gaze. "I apologize."

"Do not be sorry. The worries of the living eclipse the needs of the dead. This decision is not mine to make. I must report to mine-Baron, who commands my actions. I will make your request known to him, but I cannot promise that he will entertain it."

"I... understand." She stood awkwardly. "There's... something else." She hesitated. "I don't trust Ikharos."

"I wish I didn't," Kiphoris grumbled.

Arya looked at him strangely. "I don't mean to cause offense."

"You haven't, little elf. I know why you do not like him. Insolence does not suit him. He and I will have further words."

* * *

He glared at the pebble and willed it to move. It refused. He hated it. He hated it more than he hated the dulled feeling of subdued loss. He focused on the hatred. It was good. Better than numbness.

"Stones are like people."

He looked to the side. Ikharos' little Ghost stared back.

"They only move when you say the magic word."

Kiphoris growled. " _Reisa_."

The pebble didn't budge.

Xiān tutted. "I meant please. Say please _reisa_."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is a rock."

"And you're an Eliksni. I bet you like it when people use their manners. Why can't a rock receive the same respect?"

"Because it is a rock."

"I feel like you're underestimating the mental capacity of a rock. That's rockist."

"If I say please, will you be silent?"

"Maybe."

He looked at her. She looked at him. He turned back to the rock. Before he could say anything, however, he felt a rustle on the fur mantle around his neck. Kiphoris craned his head, and lo and behold, there was the Ghost. Nestling into the soft-furred collar like a bird making itself comfortable in a new nest.

"Well?" She said. "Go on!"

Kiphoris groaned. "Great Machine preserve us... Please _reisa_."

The pebble remained where it was.

"Hah!" Xiān snickered. "You said please to a rock!"

Kiphoris seethed.

**000**

He swept out Tellesa's legs from under her and let her drop to the threadbare carpet, hard. He hoped the pain would be a lesson, but it hadn't worked so far.

A small crowd had gathered around, calling out their encouragements. Ikharos let the racket they built up slide. Maybe the sung praises would inspire her to do better, but so far she hadn't found the right balance. She either focused too much on defense or on trying to knock his lights out.

Tellesa jumped back to her feet with renewed determination. She held up her arms just like he showed her and started to circle him with little side steps and hops.

"Good. Fighting is a dance. Keep moving."

He crashed in with restrained shoves and tricky feints, trying to throw her off. She kept her guard up through it all. He struck at her with a fist. She moved and deflected it, not stopping the force behind the blow but redirecting it to open air. She stepped in to put him in a lock. It almost worked. She didn't anticipate the knee colliding with her stomach.

Tellesa collapsed again, winded and wheezing. She glared at him.

"I've got four limbs," he reminded her with a mean grin. "Each one of them is a weapon. You can't just disable one and expect me not to use the other three."

"You motherfu-!" She threw herself forward with her arms outstretched, hoping to catch him in a tackle. He stepped back just one pace. Tellesa fell back down. Back came the glare. "I hate you."

"No you don't."

"I do now."

"And I'm very emotionally hurt. Have you given up yet?"

"Yet?"

"Well, you're still on the ground. You know, if this were a real fight, then you'd be very, very dead."

She scowled and climbed back to her feet. The onlookers, all of them soldiers, cheered her on, but she wasn't paying them any attention. She raised her fists and danced close for a quick jab.

_That's it. Good._

Ikharos sidestepped it. His hands were by his side. He stood in a casual manner just to mock her, to draw out the anger she so commonly used as a weapon, and raised a critical eyebrow.

It worked. She snarled and got closer, flinging out blows so fast he almost didn't think she was planning them. Still, he was faster, and not one of them got anywhere close.

"That's better," he said. "Use your anger as fuel, but stay in command. Don't let it blind you."

"Shut up!"

"Alright, shutting up." He caught her wrist, twisted it, and pulled the arm forward. She stumbled with it. Ikharos' forearm snaked around her neck and squeeze, just to tell her that it was there. "Dead."

He let go. Tellesa twirled around and clocked him across the jaw. It was a good punch. Ikharos felt something shift - something that wasn't supposed to shift.

"Ouch," he muttered. Or attempted to. It came out as "Ouk."

"Hah." Tellesa nursed her bruised hand. Then she brought her forehead against his face. His nose cracked - he heard it. Felt it too.

Then the crowd let out a collective "Ooh!" that he found far too amusing. Ignoring the lancing pain across his face, Ikharos gave into laughter.. Tellesa looked at them, him, her hand, and joined in.

"Doesn't that hurt?" She asked between chuckles.

He nodded and it hurt all the more because of it.

The crowd quietened and parted. Ajihad walked past, wearing a look of faint amusement. He put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder. "Here you are. I was hoping to find you both here." He looked around. "Are there not duties to be performed?! Disperse!"

The spectators quickly made themselves scarce.

"What do you need, sir?" Murtagh asked nervously.

Ajihad's smile died away. "A scout returned from the tunnels. We know where the Urgals are rooted. I want you with us to track them down."

Murtagh nodded quickly. "I'll go."

Ikharos lost all sense of good cheer. It drained away as horrible realism set in.

_Children. He wants children to fight._

"As will I," Tellesa grunted. She shook her hand to dispel the pain. If her strained hiss was any indication, it only made it worse. "When do we leave and what time will we be back? I... need to pay my respects."

"Tonight, and with luck, we'll return on the morrow." Ajihad looked her over. "Are you sure you are fit to fight?"

Ikharos dropped a Healing Rift. Everyone jerked back as golden Light swept over the ground. Tellesa was the only exception. She looked at her hand expectantly. The bruises faded and the swelling went down. "I am now."

Ajihad looked at Ikharos with newfound interest. "You... can heal with this?"

The Warlock shrugged. "Yes."

"Can you-"

"No, my magic cannot be taught. It's inherent to Guardians and only Guardians." He was fast growing tired of repeating the same explanation over and over.

Ajihad nodded. "Ah. That is... unfortunate." He leaned back. "I know it's asking much of you, considering all you have already done for us, but would you accompany us, Ikharos?"

* * *

_He twirled about, just in time to see a part of the darkness light up blue._

* * *

The Warlock shook his head. "I'm not so crazy about caves right now. I'll pass."

"A pity. You two, gather your arms and make your way to Tronjheim's gate." Ajihad sent meaningful looks to the youngsters. They bowed their heads and raced off. When they were gone, he sighed. "With any luck, we'll have those Urgals ousted. If not, we could spend weeks scouring the tunnels. My fears would be allayed if you would remain to watch over Farthen Dûr while we are gone."

"I'll try," Ikharos said. "Watch over them, please. Tellesa especially. She's in a bad way."

"I understand. I'll have words with her."

"Thank you."

* * *

The walk back to the Skiff was quiet and unremarkable. It was evening, the time where families would settle down for a lovely meal and engaging conversation. Maybe that was what his life was missing.

Formora was outside the Skiff. She watched him approach with her arms crossed.

He slowed down. Ikharos suddenly felt the urge to turn around and go the other way.

"We need to talk," she said in a voice he didn't dare contradict.

"Okay," he replied. He reasoned that if he appeared agreeable, then he might get out of it alive. "What about?"

"You and I are going to discuss what dragons are." Her eyes flashed dangerously, daring him to argue.

_Ah shit._

He held up his hands. "You do know that I don't want to hear this, right? I already know all I need to about dragons."

"Evidently, it's not enough."

"Look, I apologize for hurting your feelings, but-"

He said the wrong thing. He must have, because she strode forward and poked him in the chest, dead centre. It wasn't hard, and he couldn't even feel it because of the armour in the way, but the message was as clear as day. "Stop talking."

So he stopped.

"I have not had a good day. While you were brushing off everyone, I've been answering questions and making excuses on your behalf."

"I haven't-"

"You have. You are the Shadeslayer now. You are as important as... as Eragon and Saphira are! You can't just disregard that!"

"I don't see why not. All they see is a legend and all they want is a part of it. I'm a practical man. Their politics doesn't interest me."

"It may not interest you, but that does not undercut its importance." She closed her eyes. Ikharos became aware of how tired she sounded. "Please. Ikharos, work with me. We're allies. We're in this together. We have to trust each other, cooperate with one another. I'm on your side, but you need to be on mine too."

He wished Xiān were with him. She would tell him what to do, what to say. But she had disappeared to who-knows-where, citing that she was ' _bored_.'

"I _am_ on your side. I'm on the side of everyone here. I'm here because I want to save them."

"You're trying to save them alone. You said it yourself, we need allies."

"And you said we didn't need the Varden."

Formora sighed. "I'm... dubious about their worth in a fight, especially if Cabal or Shades are concerned, but they can supply us with material resources. I see that now. Kiphoris is smart to chase an alliance with the dwarves."

"He's a sly bastard, I'll give him that much."

"Ikharos."

"Yes?"

"Please."

"... But I like brushing off uninteresting people."

"Ikharos."

"Fine," he exhaled. "I'll... What is it you want me to do?"

"For a start, you and I could begin drawing up plans."

"Alright, what's your-"

"Not now. We're going to talk about dragons."

He'd hoped she would forget about that. Ikharos pursed his lips and looked off into the distance. "I'd really rather not."

"I understand you have misgivings about dragons-"

"Understatement, that."

"-but Ahamkara and dragons are separate creatures entirely."

He shook his head. "Not entirely separate. There's a bunch of wishes involved in Keplerian dragons. I felt it."

"That's... still no excuse."

"You don't know what Ahamkara are like," he snapped angrily.

"And you don't know dragons!" She fiercely shot back. She squared her shoulders. "There's no convincing you, is there?"

"No."

"So be it." She flitted past him. "Come with me."

Ikharos frowned. "Where?"

Formora narrowed her eyes. "Just follow."

She wouldn't say anything other than that, no matter what questions he prodded her with. Ikharos did end up following. As loathe as he was to admit it, his interest was piqued, and he didn't want to endanger the easy friendship they'd built up over something as despicable as dragons.

**000**

"Where do you think they're off to?" Xiān thought aloud.

The Captain grumbled something she couldn't hear.

"What was that?"

"I despise your existence."

"You'll learn to love me."

"Go away."

"Nah."

"You are annoying."

"Yup."

"Leave me be."

"No can do."

Kiphoris trembled with rage. "Why me?"

"Because you looked lonely out here, with nothing more than a rock for company. Not that a rock is bad company. I think you two are great together. I'm no rockist."

" _Reisa_!" He all but bellowed.

Nothing.

He dropped his winged head into his hands.

"Are you well, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_?" Javek called out. The Splicer lingered a stone's throw away, torn between curiosity and deferential respect.

Xiān answered for him. "He's trying to use magic. Apparently, if you say _reisa_ to a pebble it will lift up into the air."

Javek tilted his head. "Oh?" The Splicer picked up a loose rock. " _Reisa_."

The pebble shook and slowly lifted from the Eliksni's palm. Kiphoris stared at it, disbelief etched across his alien face.

"I can do magic!" Javek exclaimed. He started to dance around the floating rock.

"Oof," Xiān whispered. Just loud enough for Kiph to hear. Twisting the knife.

**000**

Night had fallen by the time they made it to the tunnels. Formora seemed like she had a fair idea where she was going. Ikharos was less certain. She had to physically tug him when they delved into the underground. He hated every moment of it.

The tunnel she chose went up and up in a strange sort of spiral, and before long they were out on the mountain's surface. Grass wet with dew dominated the mountain face. Below them lay a massive sprawling valley, covered in a thick blanket of trees. The moon was full and bright, illuminating everything in a pleasantly enchanting way.

"How did you-"

"I've been here before." Formora started walking up the mountain. "Before Galbatorix's rise. The dwarves haven't changed much. They really should have collapsed a few tunnels. Their entire kingdom is open to attack."

"Why don't you tell them?"

"Because dwarves take their tunnels very seriously. They might feel insulted that an outsider would tell them to break down a few."

"Do you want me to tell them?"

"Goodness no. That would be many times worse. You're an awful diplomat."

Ikharos grunted. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't intended as one."

"Shut up and let me have this."

"Fine. You're an awful diplomat."

"The worst," he agreed.

Formora shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

"Blame Xiān. She's the worst role model there ever was."

"You two are normally very different people."

"That's because I found a better role model."

"Who?"

He started to smile, despite himself. "Socrates. He was one of the first Risen there ever was. He was old, in every meaning of the word. He taught me the nullscape."

"Is he...?"

"Gone? Yeah." And just like that, the smile died away. "Iron Lords got him."

"I'm-"

"We really talk about sad stuff a lot, don't we?"

Formora slowed. "We do, yes."

There was a short reign of silence.

"Should we try to talk about something else?"

"We don't need to talk at all. It's a pleasant night. No need to spoil it with our past miseries."

He caught himself before he could mount a response. Silence sounded good..

* * *

Formora brought him to a small clearing halfway up the mountain, where the ground was bare rock and earth. It was cold enough that his breath frosted upon each exhalation.

A small boulder lay in the centre. Something about it looked strange. There were suspiciously familiar marks in the stone. The surface of it looked too smooth to be natural. Formora sat against it, completely at ease. She gestured to the place beside her.

With some trepidation Ikharos sat down and gingerly reached out with his will to test the stone, but it was as bland as every other boulder in the valley. No magic involved.

"What is this?" He asked.

"The last time I was here," Formora said, "my dragon tried to melt and mold stone with fire and claws. This is the result."

"... Oh." Ikharos paused. "Why are _we_ here?"

"Because I want to show you that the dragons are different. That they aren't what you think them to be."

"No offence, but the rock doesn't change anything."

"I was actually counting on the view."

He frowned. "The view?"

"We're up very high, are we not?"

"We are. What are you getting at?"

She placed on him a considering look . "Ikharos, do you trust me?"

"I do," he answered immediately.

"Despite our... shaky introductions?"

"Shaky is one way to put it. But yes, I do."

"I trust you. And I need you to understand that keeping both Eragon and Saphira alive is important to me. They are the last free Dragon Rider pair. The last remnant of my order."

He hesitated. "I... understand. To some extent."

"I want you to understand further. I want you to lose this petty hatred."

His metaphorical hackles rose and his voice darkened. "It is _not_ petty."

Formora paused. "I chose my words poorly. I mean to say I wish for you to keep your loathing of Ahamkara separate from dragons. I need you to understand the difference."

"I understand that there may be-"

"Look into my mind. Into my memories. Then tell me you still hate dragons."

Ikharos stilled. His anger abandoned him. He reached out with a cautious tendril of willpower and found her mental defenses wide open, consciousness bared to any passerby with the psychic know-how.

"That's why you picked here," he remarked. "No one around but us."

"Safest option." She shrugged. Her nerves were alight with uncertainty; he could see it clear as day.

Ikharos stalled. "Are you sure? I can't do it in good conscience if you aren't."

"It doesn't matter what I think, only that-"

"It does matter. Your mind is your own. Everyone here seems to forget that. If we try to break into each other's thoughts for secrets or power, we're no better than the Hive. No better than the Shades. I don't want to cross that line."

"That is noble of you, but I think you should. It's important. To me and many others."

"It's still your mind. It's... trespassing of the worst kind."

Formora laughed nervously. "Your origins are shining through. You really are a man from another world. I have knowledge and magic in plenty, all of which you could steal from at this very moment, and you're more concerned with the morality of it. Any and every other mage in Alagaësia would have leapt at the chance."

"What else am I supposed to be concerned with?"

"You misunderstand. I'm not scolding you, I'm..." She struggled for the right word. When she couldn't find it, she groaned and said, "I'm complimenting you."

"Is that a genuine non-sarcastic compliment?"

"I can take it back."

"No, you've already said it. It's out there now, out in the wide open world."

Formora rolled her eyes. "Fine, yes, you've heard it. Let's carry on."

Ikharos nodded grimly. "To the mind intrusion."

"It sounds much less appealing when you put it like that."

"That's what it is!"

"Now you're procrastinating. I'm allowing you to do this. _Eka ástar onr_."

"No pressure," Ikharos mumbled. He took a deep breath and reached out.

Formora's mind wasn't like any human consciousness he'd felt before. It was full of song and tree-bark. Her thoughts were a humming autumnal forest clad in gentle melodies, tinged with a primal force so alien that, for a moment, he was almost convinced that she wasn't human at all.

That part, the inhuman part, was full of a sharp, yet comforting, warmth. Like a cozy hearth, but larger, brighter, and _alive_.

The memories sprang forth - the ones Formora forwarded willingly.

* * *

_Sharp winds whipped at her, trying to snatch her away, but her grip on the saddle held. The clouds swept by, dousing her in water droplets, but she didn't care. She exulted in the freedom of flight._

_There were scales under her fingers. Hard, smooth scales over taut neck muscles. The dragon, which thrice the size of an elephant, roared joyously. It was a shared joy, emotion intensified through melding of minds. Formora laughed and her dragon heard, even as the air greedily snatched the sound away. They laughed together._

_The great wood-scaled beast bellowed and dove down. The cloud cover cleared away, revealing the verdant hills and thick forests in all their untamed glory._

* * *

_There was a warmth at her back. The dragon curled around the clearing, and Formora leaned against her stomach. A wing fell over her, keeping her dry despite the sudden lash of rain. The sound of it splashing against the leathery membrane above was hypnotic._

_A peaceful contentment bloomed in her heart. Their hearts. They were at ease, happy to be alive and happy to be in each other's company._

* * *

_War swept across the earth below like a tidal wave, overtaking villages, towns, and even cities. It was not limited to the land below, either. The skies were rife with violence and rage, and they were in the thick of it._

_Not by any choice of their own._

_The leash within their minds, upon their very names, scraped against their souls. They bucked and writhed in vain attempts to release themselves, but both were enslaved so totally that they could not lift a finger without permission from their new liege._

_They fought, bloodied, and killed, not because they wanted to but because they were forced to. The bonds restraining them were so secure that they could not even end themselves to spare their former comrades._

_Formora raged as a fifth Rider, someone she knew as a friend, fell to her blade. It wasn't right! She didn't want this!_

* * *

_The magic seeped in like a cool winter draught. They didn't understand it at first. They feared it was another of the usurper's twisted spells. They feared that they were to be used up in a grotesque experiment for his amusement._

_It was not the usurper. It was the dragons._

_When they did find understanding, after listening to Enduriel scream into the night about his soul being stolen, they crept to a quiet place and wept. Their very existence was being wrenched from them. They had been judged and found guilty for their crimes. Crimes they did not willingly commit._

_It wasn't fair._

_She was fading. Dying in the worst possible way. Formora tried to comfort her, but to be comforted was to have a name. And she had no name._

_She was nothing. Just scales on flesh on bones. Empty eyes glazed over. Wings dragging on the ground._

_Only Formora remained to weep._

* * *

Ikharos withdrew as quickly as he was able. His hands shook with raw, alien emotion. He recoiled and looked at nothing in particular.

"I'm sorry," he muttered "That was... That was _horrible_."

Formora didn't say anything. She was stricken with stale grief and renewed shock. Her gaze was fixed on the bright white orb in the centre of the sky. Ikharos quietened and joined her in reverie.

It was strange to see a moon not yet cracked open with Hive magic. Kepler's satellite was healthy and whole, devoid of the rotting soulfire that lurked beneath Luna's surface. Kepler-186f was in better shape than Earth, despite Nezarec's grasp on it. It had escaped the ravages of Devils and Hive. It had escaped the horrors of the Collapse. Barbary had a hold, but not the extent of Earth's Dark Age.

Finally, he said, "I think I know now."

"Know?"

"Know the connection between Rider and dragon. I felt yours, and… I guess you were right. There's no puppet strings. No illusion." He sighed. "I know what it is, but I don't know why it is. And I really want to know the why."

Formora shook her head. "No one knows the why. Not even the dragons. It was wild magic. Simple as that."

"I don't agree."

"Oh? Go on, then. Make your claim.

"I think it's a wish."

Formora grew angry. "Are you still set on-"

"Just hear me out. The... ugh, this is difficult. The dragon-magic feels like Ahamkara-wishes to me. How did the Dragon Riders come to be?"

"The Blood-Oath. Both the elves and the dragons agreed to form a union between themselves, after they fought a war with one another. The dragons gained the ability to speak through language and the elves became immortal. Rider pairs were more powerful than wild dragons or lone elves."

Ikharos nodded along. "It sounds like a wish, but one that affected the dragons as strongly as it did those who connected with them. Like the wish Morgothal made. He bonded with Merenos, an Ahamkara. The wish-dragon left a mark on his hand."

"The gedwëy ignasia." Formora pulled off a gauntlet and held out her hand, palm up. A silver mark stretched across her skin. The moonlight reflected off of it. "Was it like this?"

"Very close. But Morgothal's had more fire involved. It was bright with heat. Perhaps his was a proto-gedwëy ignasia? He was around long before your Blood-Oath." Ikharos allowed his Light to brush against the essence of the dragon's mark. As he suspected, it was chock full of paracausal energies. More dragon-magic. Almost identical to the essence within Saphira. And yet, something stood out. "There's a spell there," he noted. "One meant to restrain. It feels newer than the rest."

Formora scowled. " _Du Namar Aurboda_."

"The Banishing of Names." Ikharos remembered. It was a terrifying idea. That there were beings out there who could destroy his very soul without him being able to defend himself. It was something he'd only imagined possible to come from the twisted minds of the Hive. Or the Vex, what with their Gorgons. "It's monstrous. I saw what it did."

"It killed her."

"I know."

The curse irked him and not just because of what it did. It was a clumsy thing, committed irresponsibly and without second thought. An abomination of too much power and too little foresight. With a wary touch, he reached for the spell and searched for a flaw in the smooth ward-coating with painstaking slowness.

"What are you doing?" Formora asked anxiously.

"Testing something."

"Don't-"

He found a hold and hooked his metaphysical claws in. He peeled back the spell with surgical precision, cutting it from the older magics that were so intertwined with Formora's very being. When it was safely removed, he crushed it with his every ounce of willpower.

Formora stared at him with wide eyes. "What did you do?"

Ikharos drew a ragged breath. He shrugged and fell back against the boulder.

She gingerly flexed her fingers. "You did something. Ikharos, what did you..." She gasped and began to tremble. "I can... remember her."

"'Mora?"

"I can remember her name." Tears fell freely from her eyes. "Ilthorvo."

She began to laugh with free, unrestrained glee. As if all the sorrows in the world had been healed over. It lasted less than a minute, but Ikharos didn't think he'd ever forget it.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"No problem," Ikharos replied. The horror and tragedy of the Banishing of Names wasn't undone, not in the slightest, but the scars could be mended over. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even a dragon.

Time passed, but not another word was said until the moon had passed its zenith. Ikharos made to stand. "I should check up on Xiān. She's probably driving Kiph nuts and I don't want to lose my Ghost because she's too-"

Formora touched his shoulder. It was feather-light, but it stopped him all the same. "No." She said softly.

"No?"

"Stay. Please."

He stayed.

**000**

The command deck was empty but for him and the infernal Ghost. Kiphoris did his best to ignore Xiān. She, in turn, fiddled around with the holotable. It gave him time to call in his report.

" _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_." Kiphoris greeted.

" _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_. How fares your hunt?"

"It is done. The Shade is slain."

"Excellent! Who destroyed the Maw-Bitten beast?"

" _Ikha Riis_. And we have made contact with more humans in the process."

"Elaborate."

"They oppose the puppet-empire commanded by the Maw-Bitten. The Shade commanded an army of strange horned-humans to attack and destroy the rebels. We broke their assault and routed the attackers."

"Are these humans like _Ikha Riis_?"

" _Nama_. They have magicians, though not like him. Humans capable of lesser spells." Kiphoris hesitated. "Mine-Splicer, Javek, has learned a spell. He is capable of magic."

There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the radio. "Magic?"

" _Eia_ , the magic language used by _Formora pak Zeshus_."

"What spell is this?" Tarrhis pressed eagerly.

"It was only a small spell. He lifted a pebble. I am told that magic may be honed like any other skill. If we learn more words, we may use more magic."

"Can this magic be shared?"

"As I understand, only few may grasp it. I cannot. Neither can Calzan, Melkris, Eldrin, or Paltis. But if Javek can, it may be possible that more of our brethren may learn it."

"This is good. _Eia_ , this is very good!"

"Our difficulty lies in lack of knowledge concerning this magic."

"Where is Formora? Where is _Ikha Riis_?"

"They are not present, mine-Baron."

Tarrhis growled. "A pity. I would have liked to congratulate them. As it is, I will congratulate you."

"Thank you, _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_." Again, Kiphoris hesitated. "We have also located mine-scouts. The humans and dragon they escorted are alive and well, but Alkris recently fell in battle to the Shade's blade."

"Another loss. These Maw-Bitten will pay for crossing the House of Scar." The great warrior expelled a great huff of air and sound. Kiphoris waited in silence until his liege calmed before speaking.

"A request was made, mine-Baron. An elf, one of Formora's kin, asked for our protection when she guides the dragon and the bonded child to the elven kingdom."

"We cannot expend our warriors on trifling matters. Krinok outnumbers us."

"Mine-Baron, I have an idea which pertains to the request."

Tarrhis snorted. "You have a great many ideas, _Drakkir_. I have come to know this of you. Speak, then. Lay out your thoughts. I will decide if it is worth investing our focus."

**000**

"How did you do it?"

"The spell was broad and indirect. The intended recipients are gone. The magic is lost and directionless. Whatever the dragons did, it wasn't aimed at you. They may have intended to wipe away the very being of Ilthorvo, but they couldn't destroy the past. Only suppress it until something knocked it free."

"What you propose is next to impossible. Magic cannot be… _undone_."

He nodded. "True. But I'm a Warlock. A butcher of physics. My kind navigate the impossible."

"So you do." She leaned against his arm. Thank you."

"You already said that."

"So I've said it again. I don't think you comprehend what you've done for me."

"I have a fair idea."

The conversation lulled to a stretched out length of nothing. It was... nice. It was calm - and he needed the calm.

"So?" Formora asked suddenly. "Did it work?"

"Did... Oh yeah." He chuckled. "That. Uh... I don't know. I believe you, but that doesn't mean I _want_ to like dragons. They just set me on edge. But I won't go out of my way to attack one. Saphira's safe. I won't cause trouble."

"Good. And Eragon?"

Ikharos felt insulted. "What about him? He was never the one in danger."

"You called him dragon-pet."

"He's also a child. I'm not going to hurt him."

"I'm glad." She shifted. "What did you think?"

"About?"

"Ilthorvo?"

Ikharos went quiet. "I... don't know. There _was_ a bond, I won't deny it. A close bond. A relatable one. It's like you said, the Rider-dragon bond is like that of the Risen-Ghost connection, but that's where the similarities end. From what I could tell, she seemed nice? You liked her and she liked you. I don't know what else to make of it. It's... too different."

"I'm not asking for you to write a book on the matter. I only wanted your opinion."

"Then you have it."

"I do."

Silence. He didn't mind it, but something in his gut told him to speak up. "The view is nice. If nothing else, you were right about that."

"Just wait."

"What for?"

Formora didn't say anymore on the matter. She didn't need to.

The first rays of sunlight split the eastern sky and cut through the haze of darkness. The Beor Mountains sparkled with morning frost. It was stunningly beautiful. The monstrously tall peaks looked like a forest of silver crystals from where they sat, with rivers of viridian flowing between.

Ikharos smiled. "I see."

"Exactly. I can't imagine why the dwarves would want to keep to their caves and tunnels when all this lies just outside their cities."

"Mm-hm."

"Is there anything like this from your home?"

"The Beors are higher than any other range on Earth, but the Olympus Mons on Mars are taller still. Nowhere near as beautiful, though. Nothing but red sand and too many time-traveling death machines."

"Too many what?"

"Uh, Vex."

"Ah. You spoke of them before."

"Did I?"

"You did. They live outside of time, right?"

"Oh, so I did. That's them."

Back to the rising dawn they gazed. They stayed there, motionless, until the sun glared back and stung his eyes.

"We should get back," he announced.

"I agree," Formora mumbled.

"But my legs are asleep. And you've killed my arm."

"You don't need it."

"Don't I?"

"You have another." She smiled wryly.

"Reloading my guns is going to be very difficult with one arm."

"Xiān can reload them for you."

"I can't use my bow with one arm."

"You raise a valid point." She didn't move.

"Can I get my arm back? Please?""

"Since you asked nicely." Formora made a dramatic show of sitting up. Ikharos' arm buzzed with the deliciously weird sensation of pins-and-needles. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled back against the rock.

"I'm going to fall down the mountain," he remarked cheerfully. "I'm doomed."

* * *

Kiphoris met them halfway to the Skiff. He didn't look happy. Xiān, who floated beside the Captain, was a different case entirely. She had her fins arrayed in a way that Ikharos had come to recognize as a Cheshire-cat grin.

"I'm sorry," Ikharos said quickly.

Kiphoris huffed. "I hate her."

"I know."

"I want to tear her apart."

"Understandable, but I hope you won't."

The big Eliksni sighed. It was the sound of a man - or alien - utterly defeated. "I have spoken with Tarrhis."

"Oh? What's the news?"

Kiphoris turned about and they walked back to the ship together. "Scouts report little activity in the Cabal camp."

"Have they made any moves on Ceunon?"

" _Nama_. They've built walls and hunkered down."

"That's not like them."

" _Eia_ , it is suspicious, but they are not known for their cunning. This period of inactivity may be to our advantage. We can accumulate our strength."

"Anything else?"

"Of the Shades, no. _Palkra-Veskirisk_ has reported that Krinok, the Ether-Thief laid claim to the islands west of this continent, by the crash site of the Monoliks-Syn. He goes no farther - yet."

"The Southern Isles?" Formora inquired. "It's mostly uninhabited, save for the town of Eoam on Beirland."

Kiphoris drew his chin to his neck. "Then it is gone. Krinok is not merciful. He would have slain every single human there."

Ikharos cursed. " _Psesiskar_! Are we moving on him?"

" _Nama_. His position is too strong. The Ketch may still be partially operational. Its weaponry is too powerful."

"What about... chipping away at Krinok's base? Take his support out from under him?"

"What do you propose? Killing every noble? We cannot. We would lose the entire house. The Scars would rally to Krinok and array themselves against us. _Nama_ , we cannot openly attack or we will risk the enmity of those who remain unaligned."

"Then what can we do?"

Kiphoris slowly clicked his mandibles. "We can strengthen. If we outfit our crews with magic, we will hold an advantage. We wait for Krinok to overextend himself."

Ikharos frowned. "That'll take time. We only have one person who can teach."

They both looked at Formora. She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not against the idea, but what you propose is a massive undertaking. There's simply too many Eliksni to sort through, and the process is far too slow. You may not be capable of magic in the first place."

"Some of us are" Kiphoris told her. He sounded irritated, but not with them. "Javek can use magic."

"He can?"

"He lifted a stone with your word."

"Oh. Then yes, he can wield magic. Anyone else?"

" _Nama_. The rest of mine-crew are magicless."

Formora sighed. "That's what I mean. It would take far too long to sort through your people before I have enough to start. Some learn at different rates, and some are simply stronger with magic than others. It would take me years before you would have a group of competent mages."

"I understand. Thus I have already set in motion a scheme."

Ikharos perked up. "You have? Let's hear it."

Kiphoris drew in a deep breath. "The elf emissary arrived yesterday to ask for Eliksni assistance. She wishes for Eragon and Saphira to be protected when they are brought to elf-demesne. I considered it and made the request known to Tarrhis. If we commit warriors to this, we will be not only as guards but as emissaries of Scars. I have struck a pact with _Hrothgar-kel_ for resources. We might yet strike a bargain for skills with _Islanzadí-kel_. Scar-crews will be well-supplied."

Formora hesitated. "That _may_ work. My people are... different, Kiphoris. They are not like humans or dwarves. Magic and agelessness has decided that. If you do ask for teachings, be prepared for anything. They will adore you for your machines and your science, but they will look down on you for your lack of magic. They are proud and judgemental, though they pretend otherwise."

Kiphoris tilted his head thoughtfully. "I hoped you would accompany me. You know your people. You could help mine-Scars."

"They would sooner see me dead than listen to me. To them I am as guilty as Galbatorix for the fall of the dragons."

"Ah, but you are not, are you? You swore it was coerced servitude."

"Yes, but-"

"Swear it to them. They will know the truth, just as we do." He stopped in place. "Your people are your duty, _Formora-Zeshus_. Do not squander your chance for amends."

"That's all well and good, but they will _kill_ me."

"They shall not. I will be there. As will _Ikha Riis_."

Ikharos backed away. "Hold up. I've already got enough to do. I've got to watch for Shades, Exos, Cabal, Ahamkara, _and_ I need to figure out what the hell happened with Morgothal's buddies. I don't have time to play diplomat. I'm an awful diplomat. Just ask Formora."

"He's terrible," she readily agreed.

"I know you are," Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. "You have all the impertinence of an Uluru. Regardless, your standing as a warrior of the Great Machine grants you much undeserving respect in the eyes of those who do not know you."

"Hah!" Xiān exclaimed. They all ignored her. Kiphoris continued.

"We might use that to our advantage."

Ikharos eyed him warily. "You've got a sly streak a mile wide."

Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "I do what I must to save mine-people. Both our peoples. Eliksni and humans."

"How do I know you aren't just trying to gather enough power to screw over the rest of us?"

The Captain held out a hand. "I swear it. Upon mine-honour, I fight and bargain for the greater good of both peoples."

"That works." Ikharos took it. They shook. Kiphoris almost broke his hand. He couldn't tell if it was intentional or not.

The Skiff was as quiet as it always was. They were working with a skeleton crew rather than a fully-manned vessel, so it wasn't worrying. Melkris stood by the rear of it, a smirk dancing in his bright eyes.

"How was your night, _Kirzen_?" He snidely called out in Eliksni.

Ikharos groaned. "Oh, don't start."

"Was it a... good night? Delectable?"

"I'm going to hit you."

"Hit away," Kiphoris grunted. The Captain brushed past and clambered into the ship.

Melkris laughed. "You do not deny it!"

"...You are a strange, strange Vandal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
> 
> And a massive thanks and shoutout to Rentozu for drawing artworks of the three main characters. I love it all. They go by Rookdaw on insta/tumblr/twitter.
> 
> The artworks are on imgur dot com /gallery/5kgK2w9 and imgur dot com /gallery/H63rUip


	39. Stone and Whispers

" _You're close._ "

Tarok hung onto every word. His throat was parched and his mouth was dry. He hoped that there would be water wherever the voice led him. Food too. And light. He wanted to see the sun again. He needed to see it, above all else. He didn't want his last memories to be of dwarven caves.

" _Keep going, o wanderer mine. You're almost there._ "

**000**

Tellesa marveled at the smooth, flawless frame of the Tigerspite. An Urgal ambusher had taken an axe to it, but the foreign weapon remained whole and undamaged. The brief fight had been a close call, and Tellesa doubted that a shield would have done any better. She was glad to have it with her, even if all it did was offer her back some meager protection.

The Urgal had died moments later when she twirled around and ran it through with her sword. _Alkris_ _'s_ sword. That pain continued to hurt. She constantly tried to distract herself with work, as Ikharos advised. She hoped that by the end of the day she would be too tired to grieve.

It was unfortunate that the funeral would come around before that.

Ajihad led them on the march back to the surface world. The mission had gone splendidly. Only a few sustained injuries and none of the Varden's warriors or the accompanying dwarves had died. Murtagh continued to prove his changed allegiance, to Ajihad's satisfaction, and she got to exact a small measure of vengeance on Kuasta's behalf. It was a winning scenario.

There was a special kind of bliss that accompanied the harsh glare of daylight after so many hours underground. It was painful, yes, but it was a relief. Humans weren't made for caves. Not like the dwarves. The all-encompassing total darkness and warped sound of the below unnerved her. It gave rise to a primal, instinctual fear of the unknown, and Tellesa was only too glad to leave it behind.

Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she marveled at what lay ahead. Tronjheim never failed to impress, and the stone flats of Farthen Dûr were just as worthy of respect. At times she couldn't believe what a turn her life had taken - for better or worse. She had lost so much, but she had seen even more. Things that most people never would. Dwarves, dragons, elves, and the ever strange Eliksni! She had fought in battle against an Urgal horde and held her own!

Tellesa took a moment to reflect back on her journey with a mixture or regret, sorrow, and pride. She was a warrior now. She would continue to fight, even if it meant her death. There was no dissuading her.

"Are you alright?" Murtagh asked.

She shrugged and adopted a smile she didn't feel. "Just thinking."

"About?"

"... That we're here. And we're alive. Both of us. Eragon and Saphira too. It's nothing short of a miracle. And I don't know if I should thank the gods for saving us or curse them for allowing other people to die."

Murtagh nodded understandingly. "I don't think either will matter. The gods have so many people to look over - what importance do we hold?"

"That's..."

"Dangerous?"

"Freeing. Frighteningly so."

The corners of Murtagh's mouth curled up. "I didn't take you for the type to frighten easily."

"Gods aren't flesh and blood. I can't cut them down like I can an Urgal. They're not foes I want to keep."

"I am of the same mind, but they haven't opposed me yet, so..."

"You're a rogue."

"And you're a brute."

"Don't forget it."

They shared a chuckle.

Mere minutes later, they were set to march back to the city. That was when the Urgals appeared.

Tellesa twirled around and shouted a warning as the horned monsters clambered out of the tunnel behind them. Soldiers - both human and dwarf - broke formation to meet the oncoming threat. They surrounded Ajihad with spears and axes at the ready, shields raised high. Tellesa found herself standing beside Murtagh to the edge of the shieldwall, both of them with their swords held in tight fists. She activated her weapon and watched the crackling lightning race down the metal blade.

The Urgals weren't as numerous as she feared, but there were still too many. They didn't move in formation or otherwise employ any tactic besides charge, but their immense physical strength and fearsome rage was not to be underestimated. Tellesa locked eyes with the one coming straight for her and studied its movements, how the muscles in its arm shifted as it prepared to run her through. She noted that it favoured its right foot and left hand. It wore thin, worn leather and animal hides for armour, nothing more.

When it did reach her, she danced to the side and slashed through it. The Eliksni blade sliced through armour, flesh, and bone without trouble. The Urgal continued on, but its head, neck and left shoulder were left behind.

Murtagh swatted aside the spear of another and cut the beast's throat. It fell, gurgling, to the side. It granted them a brief reprieve, long enough only to take in the sight of their comrades locked in combat, before more monsters slammed against them.

Tellesa lost track of time as she threw herself wholeheartedly into the fight, but it couldn't have been very long at all when the tide turned. She didn't know what happened, only that the nearest human soldier was suddenly dragged away. By what, she did not know, but it wasn't natural. Dust churned up more fiercely than the skirmish warranted, and soon her vision was almost entirely impaired by it. When it cleared, she found that she was one of the few to remain standing. And the Urgals were still as numerous as they had been before.

"Bloody hell," she cursed. A club swung for her head, but she managed to get out of the way. It hit her shoulder instead and sent her careening back. She ignored the dizzying sensations and recovered as quickly as she could. Tellesa couldn't let them knock her down. If she fell, she was dead.

The Urgals gave the survivors little time to catch their breath and swarmed them. Tellesa lost alls pretense of control and swung out with legs and arms, hitting everything, but it was not enough. A blade nicked her arm, a maul cracked against her leg, and a heavy fist collided with her face. Her vision swam. She could scarcely move, dazed as she was.

Her sword was torn from her grasp and rough paws pulled her hands together. Taut rope was quickly tied around her limbs. She tried to fight it, but another blow to the head almost knocked her out entirely.

Ajihad was down - dead or dying, she didn't know. Murtagh had just lost his duel when a second monster headbutted him. And the Twins-

The Twins were urgently barking at the Urgals.

"Away!" One of them hissed. "We need to get away! Quick!"

Rough hands grabbed Tellesa's arm and pulled her forth. She struggled, but the Urgals were stronger. She tried to yell, but a third blow caught her under the chin. She bit her tongue hard and tasted blood.

The tunnel's darkness embraced them once more. The sour, stifling air assailed her senses, and the light rapidly faded away.

"Quickly!" The Twins urged. They were at the forefront of the group, completely unharmed. One of them pointed ahead. "We must lose them in the tunnels! They're coming for-"

A shape loomed out of the darkness. It was taller than any man, and huge horns curled from its head. A Kull. It held in its hand a makeshift axe of scavenged steel and leather-bound wood.

"You!" The first of the Twin glared at it. "You will remain behind to distract-"

The giant swung its axe. It took the traitorous mage in the side of the skull. He blinked, once, and collapsed.

The remaining Twin cried out and fell down with fright. He rapidly crawled back. "Kill it! Kill it!"

Urgals gawked at the newcomer. A few of the swifter beasts charged the Kull, and those received fatal blows to their heads and necks for their effort. The giant had eyes only for the remaining mage; everything else was merely a distraction to be swatted aside. The lesser Urgals stood little chance.

The remaining Twin gasped suddenly, before the Kull had even reached him. "What are you-! No! Nonono! _Boetk istalrí_!"

Tellesa's entire world was enveloped in flames. She cringed at the searing heat and stumbled back. Something grabbed her and pulled her away, and she willingly went with it. Her every thought turned to the animal instinct of fleeing.

She felt herself being lifted up with far too many hands for an Urgal, and the fresh air of the outside - devoid of the choking smoke filling the caves - swept over her. She coughed and gulped down great lungfuls of breath. She was out!

"Tellesa!" Paltis' face filled her vision. The Eliksni's eyes were wide with worry. "Hurt?!"

"No, I-" She hacked up more of the flames' toxic smoke. "It's nothing just... Wait, where's-"

A pair of figures practically flew out of the tunnel. Ikharos brought them to a gentle hover in the air and carefully lowered the ash-covered form of Murtagh back down. The young man was alive and conscious. He freely bled from a dozen wounds, but they were each little more than scratches. He fell to the ground and coughed thickly.

A shadow fell over Tellesa. Saphira looked down upon her with concern. " _Are you alright?_ "

"I'm fine," she rasped. It was a lie. Her lungs burned and her body ached, but that was the least of their problems.

Paltis turned to Ikharos. " _Urgala dra dis_?!"

" _Des_." Ikharos replied in a tense, snappish tone. He faced the cavern, his massive sword in hand. " _Er ka. Ba'sha di - ne zes di_!"

" _Raark_!" Paltis boomed. She drew a crackling blade and stood between the tunnels and Tellesa. It was a relief; no Urgal would ever get past her.

An answering bellow echoed out of the cavern, stricken with pain and rage. Another shape, one that stood taller than even Paltis, lurched out of the tunnel's opening.

It was the Kull.

The beast was still aflame. Its flesh was scorched so badly that, if not for its horns, it wouldn't have been recognizable at all. It hobbled free of the tunnel of flames and fell to its knees. It lifted its head and roared at the sky beyond the mountain's crater - then collapsed.

Ikharos nudged it with the tip of his boot, but it didn't budge. It was dead.

"That settles that," he muttered aloud. He twirled about, scar glowing and eyes bright with power. He pointed at someone, but Tellesa couldn't see who for Saphira's wings in the way. The dragon had curled around her protectively. "You! Go tell whoever's in charge!"

"But Ajihad-"

"We're all well aware! Find someone else! Everyone else! Anyone with an iota of authority!"

Rapid, receding footsteps answered him. Ikharos nodded to himself and returned to the flames. He waved a hand. The fire lessened in intensity, eventually dying away altogether. The heavy scent of smoke remained.

" _Ikha Riis_!" Paltis exclaimed. She pointed to Tellesa.

The Warlock paused. "No visible wounds, but they're in shock. Take them back to the Skiff. Get Zeshus to look them over. Quick!"

Paltis helped Tellesa to her feet. She spoke reassurances in her native language, and though she couldn't understand a word of it, Tellesa appreciated the soft voice in which it was spoken. The Eliksni helped her up on Saphira's saddle and then went for Murtagh. Eragon stood off to the side, by Ajihad's body.

Tellesa's blood went cold. _More friends dead. Will this never end?_

Murtagh was in a worse state than she. His cough was ugly and pitiful. He needed a healer, and quickly.

"To Skiff!" Paltis instructed Saphira, backing away. The dragon didn't waste any time. With one massive leap, she took off into the air and soared up above the rock flats.

Tellesa hung on for dear life and wrapped an arm around Murtagh. The flight was shaky and too fast for her liking, but it was mercifully quick. Saphira touched down beside the huge metal contraption and alerted those inside with a throaty roar. Two of Paltis' brethren stormed out - warriors in full armour, with blades and firearms in plenty. One of them, the one without the hood, sheathed his weapons and rushed forth.

" _Tellesa hulunkles_?" He asked.

She barely managed a shrug. The Eliksni didn't waste any further time and helped her down. Confident she could stand on her own, he dragged Murtagh from the saddle and rushed them inside the Skiff.

It was more spacious inside than she previously thought. Another Eliksni waited at the end of the internal chamber. It was slightly shorter and thinner than the others, and it's armour was less formidable. " _Human hulunkles_?" It inquired.

" _Eia_! _Da Zeshus_!" The first barked. The non-warrior scurried away. Tellesa fell onto the metal bench. Murtagh dropped beside her.

Mere moments later, Kiphoris and the armour-clad form of Zeshus clambered down a ladder. The warrior moved out of the way as they approached.

"What has happened?!" Kiphoris demanded. Before she even had a chance to answer, he asked, "Are you wounded?"

"I'm fine." Tellesa shook her head. She jutted a thumb at Murtagh. "Treat him."

"Neither of you are fine," Zeshus said in that strange voice of hers. She hovered over them and splayed her fingers. "Burns, cuts, bruises - you've been busy."

"We-"

" _Waíse heill_."

Almost instantly the numbing pain of everything began to fade away.

"Thank you," Tellesa croaked.

Zeshus tilted her helmet-clad head. "What happened?"

"Urgals," Murtagh answered in a voice no louder than the faintest of whispers.

Kiphoris knelt down. "Urgals did this? With fire?"

"No, the fire was the Twins' doing," Tellesa told them.

"Wait, the..." Zeshus went rigid. "They're leaders of the Varden's mages. Why would they-?"

"Traitors," Murtagh coughed.

Zeshus and Kiphoris shared alarmed looks. "This could go badly very quickly," the former said.

"Internal?" The Eliksni Captain asked.

"Maybe."

Tellesa would have liked to remain silent and give her voice a rest, but she felt like she had to say something. "Ajihad's dead. They killed him."

"Psekisk!" Kiphoris swore. He stood and looked to the rear of the Skiff. "We must be alert. If this means attack, then we will be ready to face it."

"We can't assume anything," Zeshus advised him in a slow, careful tone. "If we overreact, it could cause... complications."

"What do you propose?"

"I don't know."

"Gah! I do not like this!" Kiphoris sighed. "I despise this uncertainty."

Zeshus nodded sympathetically. "All we can do is wait."

**000**

The tunnel stank of smoke and burnt flesh. Ikharos activated the filters on his helmet to keep the worst of it out. Arya had no such luxury. He could have given her something for it. But then again, she hadn't asked. And Ikharos wasn't inclined to make the offer to people who annoyed him. And by the Traveler, did she annoy him.

She looked at him as if he were a rabid beast. As if he would turn on them at any moment. Her hand never strayed far from her weapons when he was nearby. It irked him to no end. He had saved them from a Shade. Surely that should have earned him some goodwill. But no, she saw him as yet another threat.

Damn elf. He was starting to believe what Formora said about her people. They were a judgemental bunch.

" _Guess we got lucky with Mora_ ," Xiān hummed.

He grunted in agreement. The elf's eyes snapped to him, but he didn't deign to explain. Instead, he simply stated, "This is the work of magic."

The elf didn't outwardly react, but her eyes conveyed that expression of ' _obviously!_ '

"Do Urgals have mages?"

"They do," she answered in that clipped, cold voice of hers.

Ikharos nodded. "But it wasn't an Urgal mage that did this."

"Why would that be?"

He pointed. "Because that's a human body. And it's the origin of the spell."

Arya peered at him. "How can you tell?"

"I just can. I'm guessing... this is one of those Twins-fellows? Did Ajihad bring any other mages with him?"

"No."

"Then it _is_ one of the Twins. But why would he use such an out-of-control spell?"

Arya walked past him to investigate the ash-smeared corpse. "Perhaps it was a last resort. Tellesa and Murtagh may be able to tell us more."

"Give them time. They need it."

"The Varden will demand answers."

"It'll get its answers when those kids are ready. Not before. I'm not putting them through anything that will hurt them."

She glanced at him. "That is not your choice."

"It is when I decide it is," he retorted. Arya frowned, yet she said no more on the matter.

* * *

They left not long after. There wasn't anything of note in the tunnel, aside from the countless corpses. They'd learned all they could.

A crowd was waiting for them above. Mostly soldiers under the command of... Ikharos had forgotten his name. One of Ajihad's officers. Eragon and a dwarf stood by the body of Ajihad himself, utterly miserable. Paltis sat off to the side, staring into space.

"Well?" Jor-something demanded.

Ikharos shrugged. "Everything's dead. The place looks like someone set off an incendiary down there."

Everyone looked at him blankly.

"Incendiary." The Warlock repeated slowly. "Like a fire bomb."

Slow nods. They understood _that_.

"And it seems like those mages of yours, the Twins, were the cause."

"So they fought back?" The dwarf asked.

"Maybe?" Ikharos shrugged again. "I don't know." His gaze drifted to the deceased Kull. It was a big beastie. That Urgals could grow that large was nothing short of astonishing. Every other neohuman species, aside from the dwarves, had a similar body height to one another. Abnormalities like that were worth looking into at some point.

But only after he'd solved the hundred other mysteries tied to Kepler.

Ajihad's officer swept his gaze around and said aloud, "Ajihad has died a warrior's death! Look, he slew five Urgals where a lesser man might have been overwhelmed by one. We will give him every honor and hope his spirit pleases the gods. Bear him and our companions back to Tronjheim on your shields... and do not be ashamed to let your tears be seen, for this is a day of sorrow that all will remember. May we soon have the privilege of sheathing our blades in the kin of monsters who have slain our leader!"

As one, the warriors knelt, baring their heads in homage to Ajihad. Then they stood and reverently lifted him on their shields so he lay between their shoulders. Already many of the Varden wept, tears flowing into beards, yet they did not disgrace their duty and allow Ajihad to fall. With solemn steps, they marched back to Tronjheim, Eragon in the middle of the procession.

" _A flowery speech._ "

" _An inspiring one._ "

Ikharos held back a snort. " _I don't feel very inspired_." He walked over to Paltis and held out something he'd picked out in the cave. The Marauder looked up and gasped. Her eyes widened, and she snatched the ash-covered shockblade from him.

"You're welcome," Ikharos said dryly.

Paltis ignored him. "Oh, Alkris..."

He waited for her to recover. It didn't take long. She was, if nothing else, a soldier and knew how to steel herself against emotion. Paltis stood and they started to march in the direction of the Skiff.

The elf trailed them.

"You want something?" Ikharos asked over his shoulder.

Arya narrowed her eyes. "I seek answers."

"You'll get them when you get them, same as everyone else."

"I'm afraid it cannot wait."

"It'll have to. Think of it this way: we're not clearing the kids for interrogation _at least_ until we know they're alright. And maybe not even then."

"The Varden will want to know why their leader is slain."

"Because Urgals didn't like him." Ikharos rolled his eyes and resumed his course. The elf wasn't his problem. Kiphoris could deal with her.

* * *

"Not yet." Kiphoris told her in a voice that brooked no argument. Arya's complaint died before it even began. The Captain's inner eyes closed. "They are in shock. I will not allow further harm to befall them."

"Both Hrothgar and Jörmundur will want to speak with them." She stated

"And they will, but only when I know that Tellesa and Murtagh will not break apart. I have demands of mine-own - I want to know who authorized them to fight at all. They are too young for battle. This is a disgrace."

The elf didn't answer him.

Kiphoris grunted. "I miss the Reef."

"Don't we all?" Ikharos quietly agreed. He waited by the Skiff's entrance. Paltis had already entered, but Formora had warned them not to overcrowd their patients, so the rest of them had been summarily kicked out. It played at Ikharos' heart strings. He couldn't help but feel guilty.

And a tad bit annoyed that the dragon was right beside the Skiff, but that wasn't the running issue.

He should have stopped her from going in the first place. Tellesa hadn't been in the right condition for a fight.

" _She would have gone regardless_ ," Xiān said. " _You know what she's like. Tellesa's taken after you - she doesn't trust anything but her own judgement._ "

Ikharos sighed. " _I encouraged this behaviour, didn't I?_ "

" _I should probably give up on the whole consoling business. I'm not very good at it._ " The Ghost shifted within his mind. " _Imma stop talking before... Yeah._ "

Formora stepped out of the Skiff. Everyone looked at her, waiting for an answer. She cleared her throat. "Ikharos, may I speak with you?"

He followed her to some distance from the Skiff. Formora said, in a low voice, "We may have a problem."

"What's wrong?" His fear spiked.

"The boy is the son of Morzan."

His mind drew a blank. "... Who the hell is Morzan?"

"You don't know who Morzan is?" Formora tilted her head.

"It sounds vaguely familiar."

"He was one of the Forsworn. The first. And unlike me, he was willing."

"And is Morzan going to pose a problem for us?"

"No, he's dead."

"Ah."

"Murtagh is his son."

"... Oh, I see." He nodded along. "And what does that matter?"

"He might not be trustworthy."

"I think he is. He doesn't look all that shifty. And I like to think I'm a fair judge of character."

"Really?" She asked incredulously.

"Yes, really. I chose to trust you, after all. No regrets there. Well, no big regrets. There's a few little things, but, ah," sensing he was stepping somewhere he shouldn't, he changed tact, "yeah, that's for another day."

"That's besides the point."

"Is it?"

"It is."

"Doesn't feel all that different."

"It's very different."

"Are you sure?"

"You're being difficult."

"Sorry, just... nerves. How are they?"

Formora sighed. It was not encouraging. "Physically, they're alright. They're fine warriors, the both of them, and they both possess strong constitutions. The shock will wear off, as long as we are aware and careful of their plight. However, betrayal is not something to be taken lightly. It may take them time to trust again."

"So the Twins turned on them?"

"They may well have been agents of the empire all along. Considering we saved the Varden from a battle they shouldn't have won, you can imagine how desperate they would have been. And what better gift to give the king than the fugitive son of Morzan and the Wizard of Teirm's foundling?"

Ikharos scowled. "They got lucky, dying as quick as they did. If I could get my hands on them..."

"Tellesa said that a Kull was responsible?"

"I don't understand it myself. They controlled the Urgals, but not the Kull? Are they stronger, mentally?"

"No. They're just the same."

"Then it makes no sense. The Kull must have been able to resist them. And wanted them dead, for some reason. But... why the fire?"

Formora shrugged. "A last resort, most likely. When mages sense they will lose their duel, they will often employ devastating spells to take their opponents down with them."

"That's... exactly why magic shouldn't be so commonplace. Or unregulated. This place is a mess."

"Magic can be beautiful," Formora argued.

"Yeah, but it can only be consistently beautiful in benign hands. People are not benign."

"That may be so, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can only focus on the fate we've been served."

"I guess. What's the consensus, then? The Twins were traitors and the Kull was the unwitting saviour?" He shook his head. "Varden's not going to like that. I don't."

"You think there's more to it?"

"There has to be. Something about this just... doesn't sit right with me. I'll have to think on it."

* * *

Eragon arrived not long after. He went in and spoke with his friends. When he came out, they followed him.

Ikharos offered them what he hoped would be a supportive smile. It didn't feel right. Not with what had happened. The day had quickly taken a turn for the worst.

And they still had the funeral ahead of them.

Kiphoris, satisfied that they had everyone it concerned, pushed the event forward. Ikharos could understand his thinking; better to get all the miserable stuff over with. He helped gather the spare cloaks with the Eliksni - all they really had left of the Marauders who perished in the Blasted Mountains. The rest of their belongings were to be given to next-of-kin. Ikharos wasn't looking forward to that.

The three respective cloaks of Revlis, Kalaker, and Riilix Vehlk were laid out on a slab of rock. Last came Alkris, who was the last to fall. Kiphoris carried him out and laid him among the cloaks. The dead Marauder was garbed in nothing more than his grey biosuit and cloak. His armour was too valuable. It couldn't be waylaid, even for the Scars' honoured dead.

Eliksni funerals were far from ceremonious events. They were nothing more than quiet gatherings and final farewells. Usually bodies were released out of an airlock, but being stranded on a planetary body with its own gravitational pull ruled that out, so instead they turned to cremation.

The mourners took their time. Few said anything. Eragon, Saphira, Tellesa, and Murtagh all grouped up, taking comfort in their proximity to one another. Paltis lingered nearby. Eldrin wore a sullen expression, standing by the Skiff with Calzan. Formora, Melkris, Javek, and Kiphoris stood closest to the slab. Arya was off to the side, unreadable.

Ikharos stood on his own. He held onto his own lump grief. Four Eliksni were dead - if it had been on Earth he couldn't have cared less. But on Kepler, those lives were valuable. They were people caught in a cruel, monstrous trap like he was. They were allies, and he wasn't quick enough to save them.

" _You're growing_ ," Xiān remarked. " _And I'm proud of you._ "

Ikharos said nothing. The quiet felt safer. A sanctuary in which he could begin to piece together the question of ' _what next?_ '

" _Da sha_ , _Alkris_ ," Kiphoris solemnly announced. He gave Ikharos a nod. The Warlock took a breath and pulled a sword of living flames out of the air. He heard gasps and frightened curses from the gathered humans, but he forced it from his mind. He strode forward, and lazily swung the sword through the air. A torrent of Solar flew forth. The body, cloaks, and stone slab all burned away until nothing remained but stray cinders.

Paltis turned to Tellesa. She held out a shock blade and said, "This yours."

The Kuastan stilled. She gingerly took the alien weapon and blinked back tears. "Thank you," she replied in a subdued voice.

* * *

Ikharos shifted about until he was confident that he was in the most comfortable spot possible. And it was far from being acceptable. Trying to find a place to lay down in relative comfort in the ship was impossible. The only choices were hard floor or hard bench. They had no blankets or pillows, only cloaks and, in his case, his combat robes.

Night had fallen. The funeral, and the Urgal attack before it, had faded to the back of his mind. All he desired at that point was sleep. Blissful, uninterrupted sleep. And of course he didn't get that.

Someone shook his shoulder. Ikharos turned over and glared daggers at Kiphoris. "What?!" He hissed.

The Captain rumbled, "Come with me. It is urgent."

He had the Ahamkara feather's box under one arm. Ikharos didn't have to be told twice. He checked his Lumina, grabbed his sword, and affectionately tapped Xiān's top fin. The Ghost, still half-comatose, stayed where she was. She wouldn't get up unless the world was ending. Maybe not even then.

He followed Kiphoris out of the Skiff, across the flats of Farthen Dûr, and against the edge of the hollowed mountain. Only there did the Scar Captain stop and turn about. He carefully placed the case on the ground, eyes wide and every movement deliberate. Like he were handling a bomb.

"What's wrong?" Ikharos asked him.

Kiphoris didn't say anything. He just undid the latches on the box and flipped the lid open.

A tiny dragon looked up at them with six hollow eyes.

"Psekisk," Ikharos swore.

" _Eia_ ," Kiphoris agreed. "Psekisk."

The little dragon yawned, revealing rows of shark-like teeth. Ikharos drew his Lumina and thumbed back the hammer. The Ahamkara stared at him and grinned.

"You will not fire," it said in a flanged, echoing voice.

"And why is that?" He challenged.

"For you need me. Just as Morgothal needed Merenos to fulfill his wishes, you need me to realize your own desires."

"I can do that by myself just fine."

Kiphoris growled, not at Ikharos but at the miniscule creature no larger than a finger. "You must explain how this is possible when we had you bound in magic."

"I was kept from granting the idle wishes of you and your crew, o carrier mine. I was kept from feeding on the wants and dreams of those you name allies. I was not kept from the aspirations of those you name foes." The grin grew wider. It was filled with fangs. "I do as you intended. I have become a weapon to be used on those who array themselves against you. Was that not your wish?"

"What foes?" The moment Ikharos asked it, the answer made itself clear. "The Kull."

Laughter was the dragon's only response.

Kiphoris stepped back. "This was a mistake."

"Oh, you think?" Ikharos drawled. "We should have destroyed it the moment we found it."

"No. We need more bindings to control it. We _must_ have this edge."

The laughter ended, but the dragon continued to smile. "I am your traitor."

Ikharos glared at it and wanted nothing more than to destroy it on one fell swoop, but he held off - just for a moment. He could not tell what drove him to do so. "Explain," he snapped.

The feather chuckled. "As you wish. Do you know the myth of Arke? It is an old human folktale, or so I'm told. Arke, daughter of Thaumas and Electra and twin sister of Iris, was a winged messenger. During the Titanomachy - the war between the ruling Titans and their children the Olympians - she chose the wrong side. When the terrible war was over and the Olympians stood triumphant, Zeus tore Arke's wings from her and cast her into Tartarus. She was punished for aligning herself with the Titans.  
"Can you imagine how she despaired as her wings were ripped away? As she fell into the deepest pit of the underworld? Can you imagine how she raged against those who punished her? The taste of food would be a distant memory. One she would cherish. But not one she would chase. Food is good, for sustenance is the basis of all life, but vengeance is great, for it is the basis of death. Do you not agree, o champion mine?"

"You want to fight?"

"I am Arke. I am sword and spear. Fang and claw. I am the soft desire full of fulfilled wishes. I am the dreaded flaw of unsafe promises. I seek sustenance - for both my maw and my mind. And it is my mind that hungers for the sight of spilled Darkness. Spill it for me, and I will devour for you. I have lost my war and yet clawed my way from Tartarus. I rise, now, to exact my revenge."

"Ahamkara don't hold grudges."

"Not as you know them. Death is a gift. But stolen sustenance - that cannot be forgiven."

"Jealousy, then. You're jealous that your kin feed more richly than you."

"You think I envy them? Perhaps, if I were shortsighted. But no. They feed, but in the end their strength goes to that which pulls their strings. They will, in turn, be devoured flesh and soul. I seek no such thing. I will stretch my wings so that I may fly. I will stretch my voice so that I may be heard. I will stretch my maw so that I may feed. I will stretch my power so that none may devour me. I seek all this... and in turn, I will grant you my service in your ill-fated struggle, o Child of Light."

"You think I'll lose?"

"It is possible. You could wish otherwise."

"I quite like living."

"Ah, we speak now of death? Needless. I only hunger for your thoughts. You need a new sword, yes? One that better fits your hand, your imagination? What of your own heavy ambition? Peace is seldom realized, but with the right words... even the Hive may be placated."

"And in doing so I would give rise to something worse," Ikharos bit out. "You."

The dragon cackled. "You are sharp indeed. A molecule-sharp blade! Your will is as hefty as a hammer, honed to the edge of a razor! Only in desire can sanctuary be found. The world around us is cruel and cold - and it will hurt you. Do you not wish to take sanctuary beneath my wings?"

"I'd take my chances with the Shades."

The dragon blinked all six eyes. "And what of you, Dreamer of the Haven-Beyond-Linear-Restraints? You have seen much of what should never have been seen with mortal eyes. Would you like to make them real? Bring them to present? Anchor them in past and future?"

"Will you only attempt to seduce us with whispered gifts?" Kiphoris challenged. "I seek nothing."

"Not even Lima?"

Kiphoris went dangerously quiet. He shook with scarcely-restrained rage. "Do not speak her name."

The miniscule reptile bowed its alien head. "These are things I may offer, but you both disguise your souls. I offer my agreement when the time of further binding comes. I will not fight as you tighten my leash. I only bid you to realize that a wish has been made real, and I follow it yet."

"Morgothal's wish," Ikharos realized.

"So it is. This war be birthed anew. My purpose is now in destruction through fire rather than joy through fantasies-made-real. Realize this, for it has already been brought into being."

He almost pulled the trigger. If he had, the Lumina's bullet would have torn through flesh and bone without issue. The paracausal-payload within the shell would have put an end to the diminished dragon's existence. And if anything crawled out of the corpse, Ikharos would be ready with a fist full of Void.

But he didn't fire. Kiphoris had dropped a hand on his arm, signaling him to keep from rash action. "Then the time for further bindings has arrived." He sent Ikharos a purposeful glance.

The Warlock exhaled and reluctantly holstered his cannon. He dropped the Eternity Edge on the stone ground, angling the flat of the blade so the image of the Ahamkara reflected off its silver surface.

The dragon lost its grin. "Thus we shall make our covenant. I, Arke, swear to obey your bindings." Its black eyes flashed. "But can you afford to leave me so restrained that in times of need I would be left useless?"

"What do you mean? Speak and do not dawdle," Kiphoris demanded harshly.

"If I had not waylaid fearsome Tarok, then the Puppet-King would have received those you so valiantly protect. Murtagh, son of Morzan, who would continue his father's legacy, willing or no. And Tellesa, who would be staked out as bloodied bait for the Child of Light to be drawn out and into the grasp of those who set her there. Nezarec's will was denied on this day. I bade it so."

No shimmer. "No lies yet," Ikharos announced.

Kiphoris knelt by the box. Compared to the dragon, he was colossal, but they all knew where the power lay. Even the smallest of Ahamkara had big appetites. "You, Arke, shall not seek to grant wishes to those we consider friends, allies, or innocent. Your only freely permitted prey are the wild beasts of the world. You may only grant a wish of an intelligent being, and thus devour them, if so permitted by myself or _Ikha Riis_."

Ikharos started. He would have preferred nothing to do with the Ahamkara at all - bar killing it - but he begrudgingly accepted Kiphoris' logic. It would make him feel marginally better if he had some control over the situation. "No lies," he repeated. Not a single distortion. _This has to be the most honest Ahamkara there ever was. Either that or it's setting up a masterful con._

"As you wish," Arke replied.

"The ancient language."

The dragon leered at them. " _Eka otherúm eom ach ai onr atra_."

"Now shut up while we talk," Ikharos ordered. It summarily stopped speaking. Satisfied, Ikharos turned on Kiphoris with an hiss, "What the hell are you thinking? It's growing!"

"We need the guidance on matters of-"

"Damn your guidance! It's an Ahamkara! You think you can do better than Sov could?!"

" _Mara-kel_ had no language with which to chain Riven. Only raw magic. And raw magic can be redirected to other, less ideal purposes. That is why she failed. It is why I will not."

"This is so... stupid!"

The Captain's four eyes narrowed. "Tellesa and Murtagh are alive. I am grateful for that. Do you not feel the same?"

"Ahamkara don't care for gratitude. Don't mistake the damn thing's intent. It only wants us to trust it, so it can backstab us later. Wish-dragons are not like us. They feel no love for anything but themselves. They are fundamentally self-interested. They're as cold as Hive."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend. That is one of your human sayings, yes?" Kiphoris held up his four hands. "I hear what you say and I keep your advice close by, but we must make drastic decisions if we hope to survive this world."

"I don't like this."

"I am not happy either, but duty drags me to these unpleasant places whether I welcome it or not. It dragged your kin here too. They did not let indecisiveness defeat them."

"They're dead."

"We found only a single Lightbearer."

"And we've seen no sign of the others. If they were alive, odds are we'd know about it by now." Ikharos sighed. He was exhausted. "Fine. Fine! But if it makes a single misstep, I'm killing it."

"Of course. I would expect nothing less, _Kirzen_."

Ikharos growled and stalked off. His blood was up; he doubted he would get any sleep at all. He was too agitated. Dragons brought out the worst in him.

**000**

Eragon roused himself and rolled to the edge of the bed, looking about the room, which was suffused with the dim glow of a shuttered lantern. He sat and watched Saphira sleep. Her muscled sides expanded and contracted as the great bellows of her lungs forced air through her scaled nostrils.

Anguish gripped Eragon as he remembered the events of the previous day. Tears filled his eyes, spilling over, and he caught one on his hand. Now, in the confines of his mind, Eragon mourned Alkris. It was a dreadful, creeping feeling of loss and horror made worse by the fact that he had grown ever more familiar with it in past months. He had thought that, perhaps, he had avoided it when they left the empire behind. But the empire didn't leave them behind. And Alkris, who was already ready with a laugh or a pat on the back, paid for it with his life.

Eragon took a deep breath, leaned back, and let calm settle over him. Since recovering from Durza's wound, he had realized - humbling as it was - that he had prevailed only through sheer luck. _If I ever face another Shade, or the Ra'zac, or even Galbatorix, I_ must _be stronger if I expect to win. Brom could have taught me more, I know he could have. But without him, I have but one choice: the elves._

Then his thoughts lit up. _No, not one. Two. There is Ikharos. He slew Durza._

Saphira's breathing quickened, and she opened her eyes, yawning expansively. " _Good morning, little one._ "

"Is it?" He looked down and leaned on his hands, compressing the mattress. " _It's terrible... Alkris and Ajihad..._ "

" _They would not want us to drown in sorrow_ ," Saphira said gently. She stood, wings brushing the ceiling. " _You need to eat, then we must discover what the Varden are planning. We can't waste time; a new leader could be chosen within hours._ "

Eragon rose and strapped on Zar'roc and his bow, then bent and lifted Snowfire's saddle. A line of pain sheared through his torso, driving him to the floor, where he writhed, scrabbling at his back. It felt like he was being sawed in half. Saphira growled as the ripping sensation reached her. She tried to soothe him with her own mind but was unable to alleviate his suffering. Her tail instinctually lifted, as if to fight.

It took minutes before the fit subsided and the last throb faded away, leaving Eragon gasping. Sweat drenched his face, making his hair stick and his eyes sting. He reached back and gingerly fingered the top of his scar. It was hot and inflamed and sensitive to touch. Saphira lowered her nose and touched him on the arm. " _Oh, little one..._ "

" _It was worse this time_ ," he said, staggering upright. She let him lean against her as he wiped off the sweat with a rag, then he tentatively stepped toward the door.

" _Are you strong enough to go?_ "

" _We have to. We're obliged as dragon and Rider to make a public choice regarding the next head of the Varden, and perhaps even influence the selection. I won't ignore the strength of our position; we now wield great authority within the Varden. At least the Twins aren't here to grab the position for themselves._ " His expression darkened. " _It's good that those traitors are gone._ "

Saphira agreed with a growl. " _Very well, but Durza should suffer a thousand years of torture for what he did to you._ "

He grunted. " _Just stay close to me._ "

Together they made their way through Tronjheim, toward the nearest kitchen. In the corridors and hallways, people stopped and bowed to them, murmuring "Argetlam." Even dwarves made the motions, though not as often. Eragon was struck by the somber, haunted expressions of the humans and the dark clothing they wore to display their sadness. Many women were dressed entirely in black, lace veils covering their faces.

In the kitchen, Eragon brought a stone platter of food to a low table. Saphira watched him carefully in case he should have another attack. Several people tried to approach him, but she lifted a lip and growled, sending them scurrying away. Eragon picked at his food and pretended to ignore the disturbances. Finally, trying to divert his thoughts from Alkris, he asked, " _Who do you think has the means to take control of the Varden now that Ajihad and the Twins are gone?_ "

She hesitated. " _It's possible you could, if Ajihad's last words were interpreted as a blessing to secure the leadership. Almost no one would oppose you. However, that does not seem a wise path to take. I see only trouble in that direction._ "

" _I agree. Besides, Arya wouldn't approve, and she could be a dangerous enemy. Elves can't lie in the ancient language, but they have no such inhibition in ours - she could deny that Ajihad ever uttered those words if it served her purposes. No, I don't want the position... What about Jörmundur?_ "

" _Ajihad called him his right-hand man. Unfortunately, we know little about him or the Varden's other leaders. Such a short time has passed since we came here. We will have to make our judgment on our feelings and impressions, without the benefit of history._ "

Eragon pushed his fish around a lump of mashed tubers. " _Don't forget Hrothgar and the dwarf clans; they won't be quiet in this. Except for Arya, the elves have no say in the succession - a decision will be made before word of this even reaches them. But the dwarves can't be - won't be - ignored. Hrothgar favors the Varden, but if enough clans oppose him, he might be maneuvered into backing someone unsuited for the command._ "

" _And who might that be?_ "

" _A person easily manipulated._ " He closed his eyes and leaned back. " _It could be anyone in Farthen Dûr, anyone at all. And that isn't considering the Eliksni. Their word will hold sway - they saved the entirety of the Varden with their timely arrival. Kiphoris is a skilled politician - he might see some benefit in pushing for changes that would benefit his people._ " Eragon paused. " _He might even volunteer Ikharos to lead. The Shadeslayer is popular, and the Eliksni are close to him._ "

" _I don't like him_ ," Saphira admitted.

" _I don't know what to make of him. He's... strong-willed, but Tellesa vouches for him. If he were untrustworthy, then she wouldn't defend him. And his magic! He forged a sword of solid flames without uttering a single word!_ "

" _I still don't like him._ "

For a long while, they both considered the issues facing them. Then Saphira said, " _Eragon, there is someone here to see you. I can't scare him away._ "

" _Eh?_ " He cracked his eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the light. A pale-looking youth stood by the table. The boy eyed Saphira like he was afraid she would try to eat him. "What is it?" asked Eragon, not unkindly.

The boy started, flustered, then bowed. "You have been summoned, Argetlam, to speak before the Council of Elders."

"Who are they?"

The question confused the boy even more. "The—the council is... are... people we—that is, the Varden—choose to speak on our behalf to Ajihad. They were his trusted advisers, and now they wish to see you. It is a great honor!" He finished with a quick smile.

"Are you to lead me to them?"

"Yes, I am."

Saphira looked at Eragon questioningly. He shrugged and left the uneaten food, motioning for the boy to show the way. As they walked, the boy admired Zar'roc with bright eyes, then looked down shyly. "What are you called?" Eragon asked.

"Jarsha, sir."

"That's a good name. You carried your message well; you should be proud."

Jarsha beamed and bounced forward.

They reached a convex stone door, which Jarsha pushed open. The room inside was circular, with a sky blue dome decorated with constellations. A round marble table, inlaid with the crest of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum - an upright hammer ringed by twelve stars - stood in the center of the chamber. Seated there were Jörmundur and two other men, one tall and one broad. There was a woman with pinched lips, close-set eyes, and elaborately painted cheeks, and a second woman with an immense pile of gray hair above a matronly face, belied by a dagger hilt peeking out of the vast hills of her bodice.

Ikharos was there too; the foreign wizard leaned against one of many pillars circling the room. There were dark bags under his eyes. He barely glanced up when they arrived. If Saphira's presence bothered him, he didn't give voice to his discomfort.

"You may go," Jörmundur said to Jarsha, who quickly bowed and left.

Conscious that he was being watched, Eragon surveyed the room, then seated himself in the middle of a swath of empty chairs, so that the council members were forced to turn in their seats in order to look at him. Saphira hunkered directly behind him; he could feel her hot breath on the top of his head.

Jörmundur got halfway up to make a slight bow, then reseated himself. "Thank you for coming, Eragon, even though you have suffered your own loss. This is Umérth," the tall man; "Falberd," the broad one; "and Sabrae and Elessari," the two women.

Eragon inclined his head, then asked suspiciously, "And what of the Twins, were they part of this council?"

Sabrae shook her head sharply and tapped a long fingernail on the table. "They had naught to do with us. They were slime - worse than slime, it now appears - and leeches that worked only for their own benefit. They had no desire to serve the Varden. Thus, they had no place in this council." Eragon could smell her perfume all the way on the other side of the table; it was thick and oily, like a rotting flower. He hid a smile at the thought.

"Enough. We're not here to discuss the Twins," Jörmundur said. "We face a crisis that must be dealt with quickly and effectively. If we don't choose Ajihad's successor, someone else will. Hrothgar has already contacted us to convey his condolences. While he was more than courteous, he is sure to be forming his own plans even as we speak. We must also consider Du Vrangr Gata, the magic users. Most of them are loyal to the Varden, but it's difficult to predict their actions even in the best of times. They might decide to oppose our authority for their own advantage. That is why we need your assistance, Eragon, and yours, Ikharos, to provide the legitimacy required by whoever is to take Ajihad's place."

The wizard muttered something that sounded like, "So that's why you dragged me here..."

Falberd heaved himself up, planting his meaty hands on the table. "The five of us have already decided whom to support. There is no doubt among us that it is the right person. But," he raised a thick finger, "before we reveal who it is, you must both give us your word of honor that whether you agree or disagree with us, nothing of our discussion will leave this room."

"No," Ikharos said instantly. All eyes turned to him. "I'm not one to keep secrets."

Umérth frowned. "But... you can't!"

"Why not?"

"Because... Because..."

"Who would you tell?" Elessari asked smoothly.

Ikharos shrugged. "Zeshus, Kiphoris, and the Scar crew."

"Ah, but this is not a matter concerning the Eliksni."

"If it doesn't concern them, why does it matter if they know about it? Kiphoris saved you lot - it would be polite to let him know exactly what he saved."

"He will know," Ellesari countered. "But only when the time is right. This matter is not for outsiders to decide."

"Then why am I here?" Ikharos challenged. He pushed away from the pillar. Falberd stiffened. Sabrae watched him like a hawk. "I'm an outsider."

" _They are afraid of him_ ," Saphira noted. " _See how they look at him. They fear his reputation. They fear his sway._ "

Eragon saw it. And he understood it. The wizard had about him a presence that few others had - the only people Eragon could think of were Ajihad and Kiphoris. Ikharos was confident, unworried, and yet careful. He knew he had an advantage, and he was testing the waters.

"You are Shadeslayer," Sabrae told him. "You are a hero to the Varden."

"And Kiphoris isn't? On my way here, I heard more than a few people speaking about him."

"Kiphoris is sworn to another organization," Falberd said quickly.

The rest of the council glared at him. Ikharos stopped and nodded. "Ah," he said, as if he found hidden meaning in the words.

" _Why do they want this?_ " Eragon asked Saphira.

" _I don't know_ ," she said, snorting. " _It might be a trap... It's a gamble you'll have to take. Remember, though, they haven't asked me to pledge anything._ I _can always tell Arya what they say, if needed. Silly of them, forgetting that I'm as intelligent as any human._ "

" _Tell Ikharos that. It would make this go more smoothly._ "

Saphira grunted unhappily. " _Fine._ "

The Ikharos tilted his head a moment later, but otherwise didn't visibly react. "So be it," he eventually said. "You have my word."

"And mine," Eragon added. "Now, who do you want to lead the Varden?"

"Nasuada," Sabrae announced.

Surprised, Eragon dropped his gaze, thinking quickly. He had not considered Nasuada for the succession because of her youth - she was just a few years older than Eragon. No real reason existed, of course, for her not to lead, but why would the Council of Elders want her to? How would they benefit? He remembered Brom's advice and tried to examine the issue from every angle, knowing that he had to decide swiftly.

"Who is Nasuada?" Ikharos asked.

"Ajihad's daughter," Falberd told him.

" _Nasuada has steel in her_ ," Saphira observed. " _She would be like her father._ "

" _Maybe, but what's their reason for picking her?_ " To gain time, Eragon asked, "Why not you, Jörmundur? Ajihad called you his right-hand man. Doesn't that mean you should take his place now that he's gone?"

A current of unease ran through the council: Sabrae sat even straighter, hands clasped before her; Umérth and Falberd glanced at each other darkly, while Elessari just smiled.

"Because," Jörmundur said, selecting his words with care, "Ajihad was speaking of military matters then, nothing more. Also, I am a member of this council, which only has power because we support one another. It would be foolish and dangerous for one of us to raise himself above the rest." The council relaxed as he finished, and Elessari patted Jörmundur on the forearm.

" _Ha!_ " Saphira exclaimed. " _He probably would have taken power if it were possible to force the others to back him. Just look how they eye him. He's like a wolf in their midst._ "

" _A wolf in a pack of jackals, perhaps._ "

A presence pressed against Eragon's mind. For a split second he thought he was under attack and summoned his defenses, but the other consciousness didn't barrage him with a mental assault. He cautiously let go and reached out to it. When he did, he almost jolted. It was as far from human as Arya's had been, but whereas the elf's mind was built of music and magic, this one was both a storm that raged against the bars of its cage and a serenely calm ocean where no wave, not even a ripple, disturbed the crystal-clear surface. It was Ikharos.

" _They're a bunch of scavengers_ ," the wizard said. " _Vultures who feed on what spoils their perch serves them. This is their moment of power, their opportunity to reach higher. Listen, but don't believe a word they say. If they're too greedy, then you and I are going to have our work cut out for us_."

Eragon sent the wizard the mental equivalent of a nod. He was almost disappointed when their minds separated. Ikharos' thoughts were so _strange_.

"Does Nasuada have enough experience?" Eragon inquired.

Elessari pressed herself against the table's edge as she leaned forward. "I had already been here for seven years when Ajihad joined the Varden. I've watched Nasuada grow up from a darling girl to the woman she is. A trifle light-headed occasionally, but a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love her. Now I," she patted herself affectionately, "and my friends will be here to guide her through these troubled times. She will never be without someone to show her the way. Inexperience should be no barrier to her taking her rightful position."

Understanding flooded Eragon. " _They want a puppet!_ "

Ikharos stepped closer to the table. Ellesari sat back, her smile gone. "Is the Varden," the wizard began in a soft voice, "not a military organization?"

After a lengthy silence, Jörmundur nodded. "It is."

"What age is Nasuada?"

"She is seventeen."

Ikharos went still. "Why would she, someone so young and inexperienced, be qualified to lead the entirety of the Varden?"

"She... is Ajihad's daughter."

"So?" Ikharos challenged.

No one had an answer for him. They didn't dare say it out loud, but it was obvious to all what they wanted.

The wizard backed away. "I have my answers. Please, continue."

Umérth cleared his throat. "Ajihad's funeral will be held on the morrow. Directly afterward, we plan to appoint Nasuada as our new leader. We have yet to ask her, but she will surely agree. We want you both to be present at the appointing - no one, not even Hrothgar, can complain about it then - and to swear fealty to the Varden. That will give back the confidence Ajihad's death has stolen from the people, and prevent anyone from trying to splinter this organization."

" _Fealty!_ "

Saphira quickly touched Eragon's mind. " _Notice, they don't want you to swear to Nasuada - just to the Varden. Yes, and they want to be the ones to appoint Nasuada, which would indicate that the council is more powerful than she. They could have asked Arya or us to appoint her, but that would mean acknowledging whoever did it as above everyone in the Varden. This way, they assert their superiority over Nasuada, gain control over us through fealty, and also get the benefit of having a Rider endorse Nasuada in public._ "

"What happens," Eragon asked, "if I decide not to accept your offer?"

"Offer?" Falberd asked, seeming puzzled. "Why, nothing, of course. Only it would be a terrible slight if you're not present when Nasuada is chosen. If you ignore her, what can she think but that a Rider has spited her and found the Varden unworthy to serve? Who could bear such a shame?"

The message could have been no clearer. Eragon clenched Zar'roc's pommel under the table, yearning to scream that it was unnecessary to force him to support the Varden, that he would have done it anyway. Now, however, he instinctively wanted to rebel, to elude the shackles they were trying to place on him. "Since Riders are so highly thought of, I could decide that my efforts would be best spent guiding the Varden myself."

The mood in the room hardened. "That would be unwise," stated Sabrae.

Ikharos started to chuckle. Once more, all attention diverted to him. "You are ambitious," he said with a cold smile. He had eyes only for the council. "Outrageously so. I don't think you quite understand what I am. I'm Risen. I hold no oaths to anything but my own judgement and the judgement of those I consider worthy of listening to. And let me tell you, none of you are worthy."

Falberd bristled. Sabrae paled.

"You all look to your needs. You look to better your own lives. This isn't about the Varden. If you really wanted to fight back at the empire, you'd pick someone with the right constitution, drive, and experience for the job. Not a child." Ikharos paused. "You are right, in a way. It would be unwise to allow Eragon to lead. He's untested. But I? I've fought in wars before. I've led people in battle. Would I be an unwise choice?"

Eragon kept quiet. He felt a bloom of a petty satisfaction in seeing the situation turn against the council.

Ikharos scoffed. "You're all sleazy opportunists. You're fortunate that I'm more effective in the field than behind an army. But if I were installed as your leader? The first thing I'd do would be to replace your council with a true meritocracy. Because I can't imagine that any of you attained your stations through honest means."

Falberd rose up. He was red-faced with rage. "You dare-" he spluttered.

Ikharos held up a hand wreathed in indigo-black fire. Silence returned to the chamber. "I'm an outsider. I don't have any right to wrest control from you, and neither do I want to. But I want each of you to realize that lives depend on you. Your decisions affect many people. If you cannot put that above your own petty wants, then you've failed your position. You've failed your people. And, by doing so, you'd be no better than the Imperials."

No one said anything. Even Eragon was struck silent. After a time, Jörmundur gravely bowed his head and said, shame-faced, "You speak truly." He ignored the harsh looks from his peers. "What do you propose, Shadeslayer?"

Ikharos shrugged and doused the otherworldly flames. "I've been in this mountain for less than a week, and I've been with the Eliksni for most of that time. I don't know anyone. Let's humour this Nasuada idea - surely there's _something_ there. Tell me about her. Tell me the important stuff. Anything that translates into a useful quality."

Jörmundur went along eagerly. "During the battle, she disguised herself and remained with the army as an archer, despite Ajihad's orders for her to leave."

Ikharos smiled. It was the first honest one that entire day. "Good girl. Is she fair with a bow?"

"Fair?"

"A strategist doesn't need to be able to wield a weapon to guide an army, but it helps if they're familiar with the tools used by those under their command. Can she shoot?"

"Ah. Yes, she has some skill with arms."

Eragon looked around. Most of the council wore sullen, angry expressions, though some were better at hiding it than others. Ikharos had effectively stolen all authority from them by commanding the conversation and inducting Jörmundur into his sphere of influence. It was... impressive.

" _He is_ very _strong-willed._ "

" _So he is_ ," Saphira narrowed her eyes. " _He bears more watching, I think. Ikharos is not quite the simple-minded thug we took him for. But he is still rude._ "

"Can she command?" The wizard continued.

"She... yes, she can. She rallied some others during the same battle. The people already respect her for her bravery."

"Respect is good. Do you think she can lead? On her own? Without the assistance of... certain advisors?" He sent a sidelong look at the rest of the council.

Jörmundur took a breath. "Yes."

"She's starting to sound like some sort of prodigy. If she is what you make her out to be, then she would prove an able leader. But I don't expect it to be easy. Again, the lack of experience is an issue. You know, I'll humour it. Go ahead with your plans." He turned to Eragon. "What do you say?"

Eragon was glad to be included. He appreciated that Ikharos had not tried to force him into a situation, but instead to ask him his opinion. " _What do we say?_ " He asked Saphira.

" _With Ajihad gone_ ," Saphira said, " _it may be impossible to remain independent of every group, as he wanted us to._ "

" _But what will they want us to do once we are in their grasp? Will they respect the Varden's pact with the elves and send us to Ellesméra for training, or command otherwise? Jörmundur strikes me as an honorable man, but the rest of the council? I can't tell._ "

Saphira brushed the top of his head with her jaw. " _Agree to be at this ceremony with Nasuada; that much I think we must do. As for swearing fealty, see if you can avoid acquiescing. Perhaps something will occur between now and then that will change our position... Arya may have a solution. Or we might even follow Ikharos' example and bully our way out._ "

Eragon exhaled slowly and said aloud, "I don't know. I suffer the same lack of knowledge as you. But Nasuada struck me as being as strong as her father. I shall attend Nasuada's appointment."

Jörmundur looked relieved. "Good, good. Then we have only one more matter to deal with before you go: Nasuada's acceptance. There's no reason to delay, with all of us here. I'll send for her immediately. And Arya too - we need the elves' approval before making this decision public."

"Wait," Elessari commanded, a steely glint in her eyes. "Your word, though, Rider. Will you give it in fealty at the ceremony?"

"Yes, you must do that," agreed Falberd. "The Varden would be disgraced if we couldn't provide you every protection."

Ikharos leaned back and watched them all with a neutral, guarded expression.

" _I fear you have no choice now_ ," Saphira said.

" _They wouldn't dare harm us if I refused._ "

" _No, but they could cause us no end of grief. It is not for my own sake that I say accept, but for yours. Many dangers exist that I cannot protect you from, Eragon. With Galbatorix set against us, you need allies, not enemies, around you. We cannot afford to contend with both the Empire and the Varden._ "

Finally, "I'll give it."

All around the table were signs of relaxation - even a poorly concealed sigh from Umérth. Ikharos' did nothing, however, and it was his reaction Eragon was most interested in.

" _They're afraid of us too!_ "

" _As well they should be_ ," Saphira sniped.

Jörmundur called for Jarsha, and with a few words sent the boy scampering off for Nasuada and Arya. While he was gone, the conversation fell to an uncomfortable silence. Eragon ignored the council, focusing instead on working a way out of his dilemma. None sprang to mind.

When the door opened again, everyone turned expectantly. First came Nasuada, chin held high and eyes steady. Her embroidered gown was the deepest shade of black broken only by a slash of royal purple that stretched from shoulder to hip. Behind her was Arya, her stride as lithe and smooth as a cat's, and an openly awestruck Jarsha.

The boy was dismissed, then Jörmundur helped Nasuada into a seat. Eragon hastened to do the same for Arya, but she ignored the proffered chair and stood at a distance from the table. " _Saphira_ ," he said, " _let her know all that's happened. I have a feeling the council won't inform her that they've compelled me to give the Varden my loyalty. And tell her what Ikharos said._ "

"Arya," Jörmundur acknowledged with a nod, then concentrated on Nasuada. "Nasuada, Daughter of Ajihad, the Council of Elders wishes to formally extend its deepest condolences for the loss you, more than anyone else, have suffered..." In a lower voice, he added, "You have our personal sympathies as well. We all know what it is like to have a family member killed by the Empire."

"Thank you," Nasuada murmured, lowering her almond eyes. She sat, shy and demure, and with an air of vulnerability that made Eragon want to comfort her. Her demeanor was tragically different from that of the energetic young woman who had visited him and Saphira in the dragonhold before the battle.

For the second time that day, Ikharos' mind reached to Eragon's. " _Look at her_ ," he said with a crackling mental laugh that sounded remarkably like thunder. " _She's playing them all for fools. Oh, this is rich._ "

Eragon frowned. " _What do you mean?_ "

" _She's not like her father at all - she has an edge of cunning about her. The Eliksni are going to like her._ "

"Although this is your time of mourning," Jörmundur said, "a quandary exists that you must resolve. This council cannot lead the Varden. And someone must replace your father after the funeral. We ask that you receive the position. As his heir, it is rightfully yours - the Varden expects it of you."

Nasuada bowed her head with shining eyes. Grief was plain in her voice when she said, "I never thought I would be called upon to take my father's place so young. Yet... if you insist it is my duty... I will embrace the office."

" _Scratch that. They're going to_ love _her. She's a Captain in the making._ "

The Council of Elders beamed with triumph, pleased that Nasuada had done what they wanted. "We do insist," Jörmundur said, "for your own good and the good of the Varden." The rest of the elders added their expressions of support, which Nasuada accepted with sad smiles. Sabrae threw an angry glance at Eragon when he did not join in. But not Ikharos. They avoided looking at him. The fear was still prevalent.

Throughout the exchange, Eragon watched Arya for any reaction to either his news or the council's announcement. Neither revelation caused her inscrutable expression to change. However, Saphira told him, " _She wishes to talk with us afterward. And Ikharos._ "

Eragon relayed it to the wizard, who was just as unreadable as the elf. " _Only if Saphira reports all this to Kiphoris_ ," Ikharos replied. " _He needs to know._ "

" _Why?_ " Eragon asked curiously.

" _Have you ever played chess?_ "

" _No?_ "

" _A shame. It's a fascinating game. I've found that it's best to employ your game-winning tactics as soon as possible - before it all goes to hell._ "

" _You think this will fall apart?_ "

" _I_ know _it will. Those wars I was talking about? They're not over. And they've just arrived on your shores. Keep your wits about you. Hard times are ahead._ "

Before Eragon could reply, Falberd turned to Arya. "Will the elves find this agreeable?"

She stared at Falberd until the man fidgeted under her piercing gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. "I cannot speak for my queen, but I find nothing objectionable to it. Nasuada has my blessing."

 _How could she find it otherwise, knowing what we've told her?_ Eragon thought bitterly. _We're all backed into corners._

Arya's remark obviously pleased the council. Nasuada thanked her and asked Jörmundur, "Is there anything else that must be discussed? For I am weary."

Jörmundur shook his head. "We will make all the arrangements. I promise you won't be troubled until the funeral."

"Again, thank you. Would you leave me now? I need time to consider how best to honor my father and serve the Varden. You have given me much to ponder." Nasuada splayed her delicate fingers on the dark cloth on her lap.

Falberd looked like he was going to protest at the council being dismissed, but Umérth waved a hand, silencing him. "Of course, whatever will give you peace. If you need help, we are ready and willing to serve." Gesturing for the rest of them to follow, he swept past Arya to the door.

"Eragon, will you please stay?"

Startled, Eragon lowered himself back into his chair, ignoring alert looks from the councilors. Falberd lingered by the door, suddenly reluctant to depart, then slowly went out. Before Arya left, she looked at Eragon, her eyes revealing worry and apprehension that had been concealed before.

Ikharos just smiled tiredly. He looked satisfied with himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for edits!


	40. Crowning

He leaned against the wall of the hallway just outside and waited for the elf. She passed him without a second look and continued onwards. Ikharos didn't think she was the forgetful type, but he wasn't going to play into her games. He stayed where he was and waited, and eventually both dragon and boy appeared.

Eragon put his hands on his hips, tilted back his head, and exhaled.

"I feel the same way," Ikharos said. "The stress is inhumane."

"Why did you do that?" The boy asked. "Why did you say the things you did?"

"I was hoping that it would kick those bastards into action, but I guess only one of them is willing. It doesn't matter. Nasuada has them all handled."

Eragon looked at him strangely. "How do you figure that?"

"Because being able to read people is the only reason I'm still alive." He pointed down the hall. "Your elf-friend went that way."

The dragon snorted and went ahead. They followed her. From the way that Eragon moved his head, Ikharos assumed he was speaking with Saphira. It gave the Warlock time to think and clear his mind.

The Varden's choice didn't really surprise him. They hadn't dragged their way through the same history his people had. They were soft and untested. Inaction had rotted them inside out.

Saphira stopped. They stood before the carved archway of what appeared to be Tronjheim's library. The vast, silent room seemed empty, though the ranks of back-to-back bookshelves interspersed with columns could conceal any amount of people. Lanterns poured soft light across the scroll-covered walls, illuminating the reading alcoves along their bases.

Ikharos grinned. He hadn't thought there would be a library. But now that he knew, he doubted he would be spending anymore time in the Skiff than was necessary.

Weaving through the shelves, Saphira led them to one alcove, where Arya sat. She seemed more agitated than he had ever seen her, though it manifested itself only in the tension of her movements. Her expression was carefully maintained, like always.

"What have you done?" Arya asked them with unexpected hostility. Ikharos crossed his arms.

"What do you mean?" Eragon replied nervously.

She lifted her chin. "What have you promised the Varden? What have you done?"

"We only did what we had to. I'm ignorant of elves' customs, so if our actions upset you, I apologize. There's no cause to be angry."

"Fool! You know nothing about me. I have spent seven decades representing my queen here - fifteen years of which I bore Saphira's egg between the Varden and the elves. In all that time, I struggled to ensure the Varden had wise, strong leaders who could resist Galbatorix and respect our wishes. Brom helped me by forging the agreement concerning the new Rider - you. Ajihad was committed to your remaining independent so that the balance of power would not be upset. Now I see you siding with the Council of Elders, willingly or not, to control Nasuada! You have overturned a lifetime of work! What have you done?!"

Ikharos didn't say anything. He opted to watch instead. He wasn't the boy's father or guardian or otherwise responsible for him. He had too much on his plate to factor in yet another ward. Eragon would have to learn to stand up for himself.

And he did. The boy floundered, but he found his courage and, in a most concise and assured manner, explained just what had happened. Nasuada was in position to take over where her father once led, and the Council of Elders had unwittingly handed the crown over.

"Cheaters never prosper," Ikharos mused.

" _No, they do not_ ," Saphira agreed.

He withheld a shudder. He didn't like how the dragon's voice could reach him no matter how powerful his mental defenses were. And he didn't exactly like the dragon itself either. It didn't have to be an Ahamkara to put him on edge.

He took a nearby seat and leaned back, arms crossed.

"So," Arya stated, brow still furrowed. She studied Eragon intensely. "Your position is not what I would wish, but better than I had hoped. I was impolite; Saphira... and you... understand more than I thought. Your compromise will be accepted by the elves, though you must never forget your debt to us for Saphira. There would be no Riders without our efforts."

"The debt is burned into my blood and my palm," Eragon said with finality.

Ikharos picked a book from a shelf at random. He quickly skimmed through it, but was disappointed to find it written in a runic language he didn't understand. He returned it and started looking for something more comprehensible.

"You were... unusually invested in choosing a leader," Eragon stated nervously. The Warlock heard and waited a few moments to prepare his carefully worded answer.

"Yeah," was all he could come up with.

"Even though you're from foreign lands."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because it's a damn shame to see it?" Ikharos jutted his thumb over his shoulder. "What happened back there was nothing more than a farce. I'm happy with where it is now, but scenarios like that don't usually get such happy endings. Those rats aren't invested in the Varden's purpose. They're nothing more than parasites leeching off all the people here have to offer. They don't care about fighting the empire. They just want to get powerful."

" _Why do you oppose the empire?_ " Saphira asked sharply.

Ikharos shrugged. "Because they attacked me without reason? Because they orchestrated the subjugation and destruction of Kuasta? Because they employ the help of Shades, who are natural enemies of mine?"

"Natural enemies?" Eragon asked curiously.

"I'm Risen. They're Shades. We're mirrors of one another. Same metaphysical niche. One of us has to go, and it won't be my kind."

"Risen?"

"... That explanation entails a long story that I don't care to tell right now. The short of it is this: imagine a Shade, but without all the evil spirit things and with a more... well, as much as I'd like to say benign disposition, the truth of it is we're as neutral as anyone."

"I... don't understand," Eragon admitted.

"It's complicated."

"Why are you here?" Arya inquired, eyes narrowed suspiciously. She never wasn't suspicious of him. It never ceased to be annoying.

"To kill Durza, first off," Ikharos replied. "That monster had to go. Secondly, I had to ensure Tellesa wasn't to die. Thirdly, Kiphoris wanted to collect his warriors. Can't blame him for that, can you?"

"I'm not blaming anyone."

"But you want to. More specifically, you want to blame _me_." Ikharos met her cold gaze. "Let's be real, you don't like or trust me. And I honestly couldn't give a damn if you don't. I'm not here to make friends. But don't lump me in with those Council of Elders snakes. I'm not after anything. I arrived in Alagaësia because there's people I need to kill and nothing more."

"Who?"

"Anyone who makes life hell for the ordinary, common people. You might be pleased to know that Galbatorix falls under that category, so he's going to die."

"That's not so easily done," Arya said bitterly.

"Maybe not, but I'm going to see it through regardless."

**000**

He pressed the wet rag against Ka'Den's blade and slowly, delicately, slid it down the silver edge. The rag ripped. His skin parted. Blood bloomed like sun-hungry flowers.

Kiphoris held up his bleeding palm and marveled at the pain. He marveled at the red-violet drops that slid down his claws to fall to the floor of the command deck. He marveled that all it took was a soft kiss from the blade.

The Ahamkara had not just summoned the ancestral sword of the Wolves. It had improved it. Made it sharper. Made it stronger.

And now it was his.

"You could attain much more than a sword." A four-eyed robin with a beak full of teeth hopped onto his shoulder. Arke raised her gold-green plumage and chirped inquisitively, appraisingly, critically. A test and an offer.

"I indeed want more than a sword," Kiphoris admitted. "But I think it would be most wise if I attain it all myself. I must grow, and growth needs a steady, gentle touch to weave it into beauty. The journey will be mine-loom. And I am a gentle weaver."

The little dragon said nothing. She had her answer.

Javek climbed up through the hatch. The Splicer looked at the not-bird with some confusion, but he said nothing. He only twiddled his claws, waiting for permission to speak.

"What do you think of the humans?" Kiphoris asked. He wanted to know his crews' mind. Paltis already approved and Eldrin had already made clear his stance, but the rest were unknowns. Kiphoris didn't like that. He was a Wolf. He needed to learn all he could so he might make the best possible decision. He needed to understand.

Javek shrugged his dominant shoulders. "I do not know for sure, mine-Captain. I like _Kirzen_ and _Zeshus_ , but I have not met many other humans."

"Then what of the humans you do know?"

"... _Drotos-Achris_ proclaimed _Ikha Riis_ to be the emissary of the Great Machine. That we should listen to him and consider his words with great reverence."

"Drotos is old. He was little more than a hatchling when the Whirlwind consumed Riis, but the devastation imprinted upon his mind. He attempted to find answers in the scriptures of Rain to ease the pain, but instead he found faith. I do not blame him. I cannot. You and I never knew the glories of home, so we cannot bemoan its loss. Not as he can. But I fear it clouds his judgement. Drotos has my respect, but not mine-confidence. I choose mine-verdict over his."

Javek half-closed his inner eyes. "That is..."

"Dangerous? _Eia_ , division under a banner always is. I know he is your mentor, Splicer, but do not forget that I am not Scar-born. We are the sum of our experiences. Drotos was shaped by the Whirlwind. I was shaped by Sol. I was shaped by the screaming machines."

"You do not trust _Ikha Riis_?"

"I trust him to fight as our ally. He is a broadsword, not a curved knife. His fight is forward, always forward. I trust in the safety at his flanks. I trust that he will fight to his dying breath to do what he believes is right. I trust that he will not break his word. I trust that, above all, he will choose to save as many of his humans as he can. That is what I trust. But I do not trust that his eyes see clearly. He is a being of the moment, of the present, but not the future. His foresight extends only as far as to stockpile rations for the next winter. He does not dig out his trenches for the war that waits ten years away. He arms himself to fight the nearest foe, not the villain a million _rikhas_ away."

 _And I trust he will honour my demand for a final dying-duel_ , Kiphoris thought, but that went unsaid.

The Splicer looked torn for a few moments, but he gathered himself and did something unexpected. He lifted his head proudly and clicked his mandibles in an ordered, patterned manner. "I trust _Kirzen_. He has power, and yet he has not used it over us like Hive would."

"He may be using us to defend his people," Kiphoris replied. He wanted to test the Splicer's newfound convictions.

" _Eia_ , I imagine he is, but he has treated us fairly. If we assist, we endear ourselves to him. We will become reliable to him. And he to us. It would be a noble and just alliance."

Kiphoris chuckled. He admired the young Splicer's certainty. "You are growing bolder, Javek. You speak to your Captain fearlessly. Do you not worry for stern reprisals? Has your growth of arms fueled your courage?"

Javek blinked. "I, ah, apologize _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_. I did not mean to-"

"Bah! Do not bother yourself with placating words. I appreciate plain speech. If I hadn't, Melkris would be dead thrice over."

"You are... growing bolder too, mine-Captain."

"Oh? How so?"

"You are opening up. The humans have rekindled the life in you."

Kiphoris caught himself. Had he? He _had_ been speaking rather... broadly of late. But he was never one to disguise his thoughts before. Was he?

Javek cleared his throat. "I did not mean to insult, mine-Captain."

Kiphoris waved his concerns away. "No offense taken, Javek. Perhaps I merely find myself gladdened to have a living planet upon which to exercise my sword arm."

"A dangerous planet."

"All planets are dangerous. The danger only differs in how quickly it kills you." He climbed to his feet. His helmet's wings tapped against the ceiling.

Formora clambered up onto the command deck. She afforded both Scars with respectful nods and stared at the Ahamkara. "So it's true," she said quietly. "The feather regrew."

Arke turned into a long, thin serpent with bony ridges running down its spine. She curled around Kiphoris' neck once, twice, like a tightening noose. He held his breath and strangled his nervousness. "Off," he ordered gruffly.

The serpent became a fanged spider with a single eye and leapt onto the holotable. The dragonling was the embodiment of trickery and illusions, but Kiphoris strived to be above the weakness of lesser Eliksni. He held himself above the Ahamkara's honeyed words as if he were both a serene, purposeful Paladin of the Reef and a unfaltering, prideful Captain of the Scars. Let her temptations break upon his hadium-will.

"It is true," Kiphoris met Formora's gaze. "Arke will be a new limb for mine-banner to fight with. And if it misbehaves, we dock that limb like an errant _Drekh_."

"That explains Ikharos' dire mood."

" _Eia_. He is right to keep his trust from dragons, but his hatred is... wildly unnecessary. I yet begrudge him for what he did to me, and yet I work with him. He needs to learn the same."

Formora nodded slowly. She pointedly avoided looking at Arke. "I've been informed, by Saphira, that the Varden has its new leader chosen."

"Who?"

"Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad."

Kiphoris hummed. "I do not know her, but I do not know many of the Varden. Is there ceremony, or do I merely send my regards?"

"I... believe there is a ceremony. She will be installed as leader after her father's funeral tomorrow."

"Are we expected to attend?"

"I imagine so."

"... Human politics is slow. So be it, I will humour them."

* * *

Kiphoris led his warriors to the dwarven city. Their amour gleamed and glinted in the daylight streaming through the open crater far above. Their eyes were bright with sustenance and they all carried sheathed blades at their hips. They moved in as an ordered pack, not one making a step out of line. Melkris did not make himself an irritation and Eldrin kept his growing displeasure from showing. Paltis packed away her sorrow for other days and Javek once more summoned his new courage to stand tall. True Eliksni, each and every one of them. Kiphoris surged with pride.

They left Calzan and Obleker in the Skiff. Formora and Ikharos, their humans, went with them. The Wishbreaker and the Kingkiller marched on either side of Kiphoris at the head of their group, as befitting their noble status. Ikharos wore his robes and armour with familiar grace, and Formora moved with inhuman elegance. They were not orthodox of a crew, but they reflected well on the Scars, so Kiphoris was glad to have them with him.

A carefully arranged column of mourners was set just within the gates of Tronjheim. Ajihad lay at the front, cold and pale on a white marble bier borne by six men in black armor. Upon his head was a helm strewn with gems. His hands were clasped beneath his collarbone, over the ivory hilt of his bare sword, which extended from underneath the shield covering his chest and legs. Silver mail weighed down his limbs and fell onto the bier.

Close behind the body stood who Kiphoris presumed to be Nasuada - grave featured, sable-cloaked, and strong in stature, though tears adorned her face. To the side was King Hrothgar in dark robes. Behind them was Arya, and behind her were the humans Ikharos named - in a faint whisper - the Council of Elders, all with suitably remorseful expressions; and finally a stream of mourners that extended a mile from Tronjheim. Tellesa and Murtagh were somewhere in the crowd - Kiphoris couldn't see them, but he caught a trace of their scents.

Kiphoris took up position on Nasuada's other side, as a human soldier subtly indicated. His Eliksni joined the dwarven and human guards. Ikharos and Formora made their own way beside Arya.

"Sire-loss is a hard pain," Kiphoris said in a quiet voice. Nasuada glanced at him. "You have my sympathies, Ajihad-heir."

"You know it?" She asked, her voice little more than a murmur.

"I do. When mine-father died at Ceres, I was left lost and hollowed. It took me time to leave that pain behind, but leave it I did." He paused. "If it is not clear, I am attempting to console."

Nasuada muffled a laugh behind her hand. "I understand. Thank you, Kiphoris."

He nodded and straightened up to his full height. He towered over everyone present.

They were joined by Eragon, Saphira, and another dwarf not long after. The dwarf took up position behind Hrothgar, and the Rider and dragon joined the Council of Elders.

Deep in Tronjheim, a drum gonged. _Boom_. The sonorous bass note resonated through his chitin and bones, vibrating the city-mountain and causing it to echo like a great stone bell.

The column stepped forward. Kiphoris moved with it, limiting his long strides to keep pace with the humans.

 _Boom_. On the second note, another, lower drum melded with the first, each beat rolling inexorably through the hall. It propelled them forward with more force.

 _Boom_. When the tunnel ended, Ajihad's bearers paused between the onyx pillars before gliding into the central chamber. A massive red gem rested in the centre of the ceiling, like a great crystalized rose. It was glorious. It was magnificent. It was art on a sophisticated level he hadn't seen since visiting the Dreaming City so long ago.

 _Boom_. The bearers continued forward, between the countless razor edges. Then the procession turned and descended broad flights of stairs to the tunnels below. Through many caverns they marched, passing stone huts where dwarven children - so very tiny - clutched their mothers and stared with wide eyes. They looked at him with open wonder. Kiphoris tilted his head and blinked his eyes at random. He was rewarded with a series of innocent giggles that melted his hearts.

 _Boom_. And with that final crescendo, they halted under ribbed stalactites that branched over a great catacomb lined with alcoves. In each alcove lay a tomb carved with names and house crests. Hundreds of thousands were buried here. The only light came from sparsely placed red lanterns, pale in the shadows.

After a moment, the bearers strode to a small room annexed to the main chamber. In the center, on a raised platform, was a great crypt open to waiting darkness. On the top was carved in human runes:

_May all, Knurlan, Humans, and Elves,_

_Remember_

_This Man._

_For he was Noble, Strong, and Wise._

_Gûntera Arûna._

When the mourners were gathered around, Ajihad was lowered into the crypt. Those who knew him in life were allowed to approach. Kiphoris kept back, allowing others to pay their respects. It didn't feel right to join them, considering he had met the man only three to four times.

When at last everyone had paid their respects, Nasuada bowed over Ajihad and touched her father's hand, holding it with gentle urgency. Uttering a pained groan, she began to sing in a strange, wailing language, filling the cavern with her lamentations.

Then came twelve dwarves, who slid a marble slab over Ajihad's up-turned face. And he was buried forever more.

* * *

When the humans grew exhausted with mourning, the procession moved into an amphitheatre beneath the city.

"This is where the crowning happens," Ikharos had muttered. "I think. That, or we're about to hear long-winded speeches about death and hope and all the bullshit that comes with it."

Formora subtly elbowed him. "Be respectful."

The Lightbearer rolled his eyes. "Yeah, alright. But when I die, don't drag my funeral out. Bury me, have a drink, move on."

"Noted," Kiphoris murmured. "Now be silent before someone hears you."

They had, in fact, already been overheard. Arya, sitting on the row ahead of them, spared Ikharos a distasteful look. Everyone else missed it, enraptured with their own muttered discussions.

They had a prime spot. At least, that was what the humans who gave them their place said. They were second from the front, level with the podium. Kiphoris would have rather been on the ceiling. It would have provided a better view. But their dwarven and human hosts didn't account for that, clawless as they were, so uncomfortable stone benches it was.

The rest of the important figures in the city were around them; Hrothgar and that dwarf from earlier who may have been his heir, Arya, Eragon and Saphira, Nasuada, and the Council of Elders. Both the dwarven king's guards and Kiphoris' soldiers were nearby.

It took several minutes for the amphitheater to fill. Then one of the Council of Elders, a man in ornate armour, stepped up to the podium. "People of the Varden, we last stood here fifteen years ago, at Deynor's death. His successor, Ajihad, did more to oppose the empire and Galbatorix than any before. He won countless battles against superior forces. He nearly killed Durza, putting a scratch on the Shade's blade. And greatest of all, he welcomed Rider Eragon and Saphira into Tronjheim! He welcomed the arrival of Kiphoris and the Eliksni! However, a new leader must be chosen, one who will win us even more glory."

Someone high above shouted, "Shadeslayer!"

Ikharos lowered his head. "Psekisk," he muttered.

Kiphoris felt a smile tugging at him. He was grateful his helmet hid it.

The man on the podium shook his head gravely. He said, "He has other duties and responsibilities now, and allegiances to other peoples. No, the Council of Elders has thought long on this: we need one who understands our needs and wants, one who has lived and suffered alongside us. One who refused to flee, even when battle was imminent."

They were making quite a show of it. Kiphoris found it remarkably similar to rhetoric of the more traditionalist Eliksni nobles. And he wasn't impressed. The old ways were good, but only to an extent. The ways of Riis should be remembered and cherished, but not all of it was healthy for a house. Some of it, the useless extraneous parts, would need to be cut away.

The name came as a whisper from a thousand throats and was uttered by the man on the podium himself: "Nasuada." With a bow, the soldier stepped aside.

Next to stand up was Arya. She surveyed the waiting audience, then said, "The elves honor Ajihad tonight... And on behalf of Queen Islanzadí, I recognize Nasuada's ascension and offer her the same support and friendship we extended to her father. May the stars watch over her."

Hrothgar took the podium and stated gruffly, "I too support Nasuada, as do the clans." He moved aside.

Kiphoris rose up and stepped over the bench in front of him. He marched onto the podium and swiveled to face the massive crowd. "I, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_ ," he rumbled, "represent _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_ on this day. Mine-banner, the House of Scar, do so support Nasuada. May her arm be strong, her ether be cold, her eyes be bright, and her spirit be valiant."

Silence - some of it respectful and most of it confused - reigned supreme. Kiphoris went back to his seat.

Then it was Eragon's turn. Standing before the crowd, with all eyes upon him and Saphira, he said, "We support Nasuada as well." Saphira growled in affirmation.

Ikharos' turn came around. The Warlock rose, practically glided onto the podium, and said, "Nasuada is a prime candidate. I approve of and support her."

He returned and stiffly sat down, aware of all the eyes on him.

Pledges spoken, the Council of Elders lined themselves on either side of the podium, the soldier at their head. Bearing herself proudly, Nasuada approached and knelt before him, her dress splayed in raven billows. Raising his voice, the soldier said, "By the right of inheritance and succession, we have chosen Nasuada. By merit of her father's achievements and the blessings of her peers, we have chosen Nasuada. I now ask you: Have we chosen well?"

The roar of the crowd was overwhelming. "Yes!"

The soldier nodded. "Then by the power granted to this council, we pass the privileges and responsibilities accorded to Ajihad to his only descendant, Nasuada." He gently placed a circlet of silver on Nasuada's brow. Taking her hand, he lifted her upright and pronounced, "I give you our new leader!"

For ten minutes, the Varden and dwarves cheered, thundering their approbation until the hall rang with the clamor. Once their cries subsided, Eragon and Saphira started toward Nasuada. Eragon bowed and kneeled, and slipped his red sword from its sheath. He placed the sword flat on his palms, then lifted it to Nasuada. ""Out of deep respect... and appreciation of the difficulties facing you... I, Eragon, first Rider of the Varden, Argetlam, give you my blade and my fealty, Nasuada."

The Varden and dwarves stared, dumbstruck. Ikharos chuckled quietly.

Nasuada smiled and grasped Zar'roc, placing the sword's tip on Eragon's forehead. "I am honored that you choose to serve me, Rider Eragon. I accept, as you accept all the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."

Eragon did so, then stepped back with Saphira. With shouts of approval, the crowd rose to their feet, the dwarves stamping in rhythm with their hobnail boots while human warriors banged swords across shields. It was chaotic and entirely like home - albeit without the roars of nobles and the warbles of Servitors.

Turning to the podium, Nasuada gripped it on either side and looked up at all the people in the amphitheater. She beamed at them, pure joy shining from her face. "People of the Varden!"

The silence was back.

"As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause. I will never cease fighting until the Urgals are vanquished, Galbatorix is dead, and Alagaësia is free once more!"

A smattering of cheers and applause accompanied her bold statement.

"Therefore, I say to you, now is the time to prepare. Here in Farthen Dûr - after endless skirmishes - we won our greatest battle. It is our turn to strike back. Galbatorix is weak after losing so many forces, and there will never again be such an opportunity. Therefore, I say again, now is the time to prepare so that we may once more stand victorious!"

Kiphoris stilled. Ikharos lost his smile. "Psekisk," they both said at once. Now was not the time for humans to make noise. It would attract the attention of those who would see them dead.

* * *

"That's not good."

" _Nama_."

"If the Cabal don't smash them, then it'll be Krinok's bunch. If not them, the Exos."

"Can we convince them otherwise?"

"They've spent nearly a century building up to this. Not a Traveler-damned chance."

Kiphoris growled. "Fools! They will die!"

Ikharos shrugged and leaned against the bulkhead. "I know."

"There must be something we can do!"

"Kiph, they aren't going to change their mind because... what? Me and a couple of Eliksni warn them otherwise? You heard them back there. They aren't going to stop until they've drawn blood."

Formora cleared her throat. "What if we help them?"

They turned to her. She sat by the holotable, wearing a look of faint concern.

"What if we help them... not die? Work with them so that if the Cabal do attack, we're ready for it. Maybe even use the Varden to our advantage. The Cabal, or Krinok, likely won't expect much in the way of defense if they target the Varden. They reach out, we cut off the hand."

Ikharos frowned. "That's... ruthless. People would die."

"More would die if the Varden is left to to fend for itself."

"Still ruthless." Ikharos looked down at the floor. "It _could_ work, to some degree. But it _could_ also be a wasted investment. We just don't have the manpower to do this sparingly."

Formora continued. "The Varden and their allies know this land. They have access to resources. The Cabal and Krinok won't have that advantage. We do, if we make our alliance with the Varden and dwarves more... structured."

Kiphoris nodded along. "That is good. We need not station many warriors with the humans. Only enough that our influence is felt and our voices heard. A few who may give advice where Krinok and his traitors or the Cabal are concerned..."

"You have an idea?"

"I am the Dreamer. I have many ideas. But yes, there is one in particular I am considering. Let me speak with Tarrhis-"

"The Rider is outside," whispered the feathered lizard in the corner of the room. "He seeks the Child of Light."

Ikharos spared Arka a hateful glare and disappeared down the ladder.

"Your plan?" Formora asked, ignoring the Ahamkara entirely.

Kiphoris shrugged and strode over to the radio. "I must clear it with mine-Baron first. He may see it as a waste of Eliksni effort. You might help me convince him otherwise."

**000**

It was evening outside the Skiff. Eragon stood by the foot of the Skiff, feeling terribly out of place, what with his funeral clothes. It didn't feel right when the grandiose creation of Eliksni handiwork stood before him. He felt as if his garb brought with it an essence of sorrow that only hurt the-

"Hey," Ikharos greeted.

Eragon jumped and turned around. He hadn't heard the wizard step out. "Hello. I'm sorry if I interrupted-"

"Don't worry, I was just poring over essential battleplans with Kiphoris that may decide the fate of his entire people." Eragon shrank. His blood went cold. The wizard chuckled. "A joke. Nothing that can't wait a little while. What brings you here?"

Relief flooded his heart. Eragon let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding in. "I... wanted to speak with you."

"And now you are." Ikharos smiled softly in a way only a man who'd led a difficult life could. Brom's had been much the same. The person before Eragon was different to the one he'd first met. More patient and less confrontational. More approachable.

"I wanted to know... if you would teach me to use magic as you wield it. So that I might pose a better chance at-"

Ikharos shook his head. "I can't. Light is... inherent to Risen and no one else. It's not a gift we can hand out. It's tied to our souls."

Eragon nodded glumly. "I see."

"What did you hope to use it for?" Ikharos asked curiously.

"I hoped that if I ever face something like Durza again, I might be better prepared."

Ikharos' smile died. "No. You shouldn't be fighting. You're too young."

Eragon frowned. "But-"

"But nothing. These people shouldn't be throwing you out into battle, hoping it'll make a difference."

"But... but I _can_ fight!" Eragon argued.

"The issue isn't whether you _can_ , but whether you _should_. Doesn't it bother you? That you have to kill? Do the faces of your victims haunt your dreams?"

Eragon fumbled for a response and found his words had deserted him. His silence was all the answer Ikharos needed. The wizard placed a hand on his shoulder - supportive, warm, and heartfelt.

"I don't like this," Ikharos admitted. "And I'm not alone. Kiphoris thinks the same. All the Scars will. War is not a place for children."

"I'm not a child."

"... No, perhaps not. But you're not a grown man either. I know I can't be there to stop you, and neither do I want to. It's your life. Your choice. But next time someone points at the enemy and tells you to fight, ask them why they need _you_ to fight. Why they need _you_ to kill. Could be there's an easier path where no blood is spilled. No one wants to die, Eragon. But everyone wants to win."

"So... you want me to question those who command me?"

"I'm trying to say that you should make your own choices, everyone else be damned. Just make sure they're the right ones."

* * *

Ikharos' words haunted Eragon's thoughts through the night and well into the next day. When he and Saphira were eating lunch, he barely touched his food. He was distracted with internal debates concerning the matter of choice. Ikharos let nothing control him and he advised others to do the same. Saphira had surprised Eragon by agreeing with what the ' _rude man_ ' had said and left it at that.

Jarsha trotted up to them. Like before, he stared wide-eyed at Saphira, following her movements as she nibbled off the end of a leg bone. "Yes?" asked Eragon, wiping his chin and wondering if the Council of Elders had sent for them. He had heard nothing from them since the funeral.

Jarsha turned away from Saphira long enough to say, "Nasuada would like to see you, sir. She's waiting in her father's study."

" _Sir!_ " Eragon almost laughed. Only a little while ago, _he_ would have been calling people sir, not the other way around. He glanced at Saphira. "Are you done, or should we wait a few minutes?"

Rolling her eyes, she fit the rest of the bloody haunch into her mouth and split the bone with a loud crack. " _I'm done._ "

"Alright," Eragon said, standing, "you can go, Jarsha. We know the way."

It took almost half an hour to reach the study because of the citymountain's size. As during Ajihad's rule, the door was guarded, but instead of two men, an entire squad of battle-hardened warriors now stood before it, alert for the slightest hint of danger. They would clearly sacrifice themselves to protect their new leader from ambush or attack. Though the men could not have failed to recognize Eragon and Saphira, they barred the way while Nasuada was alerted of her visitors. Only then were the two allowed to enter.

Eragon immediately noticed a change: a vase of flowers in the study. The small purple blossoms were unobtrusive, but they suffused the air with a warm fragrance that - for Eragon - evoked summers of fresh-picked raspberries and scythed fields turning bronze under the sun. He inhaled, appreciating the skill with which Nasuada had asserted her individuality without obliterating Ajihad's memory.

She sat behind the broad desk, still cloaked in the black of mourning.

As Eragon seated himself, Saphira beside him, she said, "Eragon." It was a simple statement, neither friendly nor hostile. She turned away briefly, then focused on him, her gaze steely and intent. "I have spent the last few days reviewing the Varden's affairs, such as they are. It was a dismal exercise. We are poor, overextended, and low on supplies, and few recruits are joining us from the Empire. I mean to change that.

"The dwarves cannot support us much longer, as it's been a lean year for farming and they've suffered losses of their own. Considering this, I have decided to move the Varden to Surda. It's a difficult proposition, but one I believe necessary to keep us safe. Once in Surda, we will finally be close enough to engage the Empire directly."

Even Saphira stirred with surprise. _The work that would involve!_ Eragon thought. _It could take months to get everyone's belongings to Surda, not to mention all the people. And they'd probably be attacked along the way._ "I thought King Orrin didn't dare openly oppose Galbatorix," he protested.

Nasuada smiled grimly. "His stance has changed since we defeated the Urgals. He will shelter and feed us and fight by our side. Many Varden are already in Surda, mainly women and children who couldn't or wouldn't fight. They will also support us, else I will strip our name from them."

"How," Eragon asked, "did you communicate with King Orrin so quickly?"

"The dwarves use a system of mirrors and lanterns to relay messages through their tunnels. They can send a dispatch from here to the western edge of the Beor Mountains in less than a day. Couriers then transport it to Aberon, capital of Surda. Fast as it is, that method is still too slow when Galbatorix can surprise us with an Urgal army and give us less than a day's notice. I intend to arrange something far more expedient between Du Vrangr Gata and Hrothgar's magicians before we go. If the Eliksni will share their secrets, then we may hold an even greater advantage in that area."

Opening the desk drawer, Nasuada removed a thick scroll. "The Varden will depart Farthen Dûr within the month. Hrothgar has agreed to provide us with safe passage through the tunnels. Moreover, he sent a force to Orthíad to remove the last vestiges of Urgals and seal the tunnels so no one can invade the dwarves by that route again. As this may not be enough to guarantee the Varden's survival, I have a favor to ask of you."

Eragon nodded. He had expected a request or order. That was the only reason for her to have summoned them. "I am yours to command."

"Perhaps." Her eyes flicked to Saphira for a second. "In any case, this is not a command, and I want you to think carefully before replying. To help rally support for the Varden, I wish to spread word throughout the Empire that a new Rider and his dragon have joined our cause. I would like your permission before doing so, however."

" _It's too dangerous_ ," Saphira objected.

" _Word of our presence here will reach the Empire anyway_ ," Eragon pointed out. " _The Varden will want to brag about their victory and Durza's death. Since it'll happen with or without our approval, we should agree to help._ "

She snorted softly. " _I'm worried about Galbatorix. Until now we haven't made it public where our sympathies lie._ "

" _Our actions have been clear enough._ "

" _Yes, but even when Durza fought you in Tronjheim, he wasn't trying to kill you. If we become outspoken in our opposition to the Empire, Galbatorix won't be so lenient again. Who knows what forces or plots he may have kept in abeyance while he tried to gain hold of us? As long as we remain ambiguous, he won't know what to do._ "

" _The time for ambiguity has passed_ ," Eragon asserted. " _We fought the Urgals, faced Durza, and I have sworn fealty to the leader of the Varden. No ambiguity exists. No, with your permission, I will agree to her proposal._ "

She was silent for a long while, then dipped her head. " _As you wish._ "

He put a hand on her side before returning his attention to Nasuada and saying, "Do what you see fit. If this is how we can best assist the Varden, so be it."

"Thank you. I know it is a lot to ask. Now, as we discussed before the funeral, I expect you to travel to Ellesméra and complete your training."

"With Arya?"

"Of course. The elves have refused contact with both humans and dwarves ever since she was captured. Arya is the only being who can convince them to emerge from seclusion."

"Couldn't she use magic to tell them of her rescue?"

"Unfortunately not. When the elves retreated into Du Weldenvarden after the fall of the Riders, they placed wards around the forest that prevent any thought, item, or being from entering it through arcane means, though not from exiting it, if I understood Arya's explanation. Thus, Arya must physically visit Du Weldenvarden before Queen Islanzadí will know that she is alive, that you and Saphira exist, and of the numerous events that have befallen the Varden these past months."

Nasuada handed him the scroll. It was stamped with a wax sigil. "This is a missive for Queen Islanzadí, telling her about the Varden's situation and my own plans. Guard it with your life; it would cause a great deal of harm in the wrong hands. I hope that after all that's happened, Islanzadí will feel kindly enough toward us to reinitiate diplomatic ties. Her assistance could mean the difference between victory and defeat. Arya knows this and has agreed to press our case, but I wanted you aware of the situation too, so you could take advantage of any opportunities that might arise."

Eragon tucked the scroll into his jerkin. "When will we leave?"

"Tomorrow morning... unless you have something already planned?"

"No."

"Good." She clasped her hands. "You should know, others will be traveling with you." He looked at her quizzically. "King Hrothgar insisted that in the interest of fairness there should be a dwarf representative present at your training, since it affects their race as well. So he's sending Orik along. And, as per Arya's request, the Eliksni are to send along both their own dignitaries and guards, though I presume they are one and the same. Kiphoris will lead them, alongside Ikharos."

Eragon's first reaction was irritation. Saphira could have flown Arya and him to Du Weldenvarden, thereby eliminating weeks of unnecessary travel. The other's presence would confine them to the ground. But upon further reflection, Eragon acknowledged the wisdom of Hrothgar's and the Kiphoris' request. It was important for Eragon and Saphira to maintain a semblance of equality in their dealings with the different races, even the newly-arrived Eliksni. He smiled. "Ah, well, it'll slow us down, but I suppose we have to placate our allies. To tell the truth, I'm glad they're coming. Crossing Alagaësia with only Arya was a rather daunting prospect. She's..."

Nasuada smiled too. "She's different."

"Aye." He grew serious again. "Do you really mean to attack the Empire? You said yourself that the Varden are weak. It doesn't seem like the wisest course. If we wait-"

"If we wait," she said sternly, "Galbatorix will only get stronger. This is the first time since Morzan was slain that we have even the slightest opportunity of catching him unprepared. He had no reason to suspect we could defeat the Urgals - which we did thanks to the Scars - so he won't have readied the Empire for invasion. Some of the Eliksni will be joining us on the route to Surda, and I have word from Kiphoris that another Eliksni Captain will be there to assist us?"

"Really?"

"Yes. A Scar named Palkra, the Pikeman."

"Pikeman?"

Nasuada frowned. "I am as clueless as you are. The Eliksni have a tradition of identifying themselves with strange titles. Did you know that Kiphoris is named the Dreamer?" She leaned back. "They're… a strange people."

Eragon nodded. "When you invade the empire, what will you do if Galbatorix flies out to face you?"

"From what we know of him, he won't fight until Urû'baen itself is threatened. It doesn't matter to Galbatorix if we destroy half the Empire, so long as we come to him, not the other way around. Why should he bother anyway? If we do manage to reach him, our troops will be battered and depleted, making it all the easier for him to destroy us."

"You haven't answered the question."

"That's because I can't yet. This will be a long campaign. By its end you might be powerful enough to defeat Galbatorix, or the elves may have joined us... and their spellcasters are the strongest in Alagaësia, barring perhaps Ikharos. No matter what happens, we cannot afford to delay. Now is the time to gamble and dare what no one thinks we can accomplish. The Varden have lived in the shadows for too long - we must either challenge Galbatorix or submit and pass away."

The scope of what Nasuada was suggesting disturbed Eragon. So many risks and unknown dangers were involved, it was almost absurd to consider such a venture. However, it was not his place to make the decision, and he accepted that. Nor would he dispute it further. _We have to trust in her judgment now._

"But what of you, Nasuada? Will you be safe while we're gone? I must think of my vow. It's become my responsibility to ensure that you won't have your own funeral soon."

Her jaw tightened as she gestured at the door and the warriors beyond. "You needn't fear, I am well defended." She looked down. "I will admit... one reason for going to Surda is that Orrin knows me of old and will offer his protection. I cannot tarry here with you and Arya gone and the Council of Elders still with power. They won't accept me as their leader until I prove beyond doubt that the Varden are under _my_ control, not theirs."

Then she seemed to draw on some inner strength, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin so she was distant and aloof. "Go now, Eragon. Ready your horse, gather supplies, and be at the north gate by dawn."

He bowed low, respecting her return to formality, then left with Saphira.

* * *

After dinner, Eragon and Saphira flew together. They sailed high above Tronjheim, where crenulated icicles hung from the sides of Farthen Dûr, forming a great white band around them. Though it was still hours until night, it was already nearly dark within the mountain.

Eragon threw back his head, savoring the air on his face. He missed the wind—wind that would rush through the grass and stir the clouds until everything was tousled and fresh. Wind that would bring rain and storms and lash the trees so they bent. " _For that matter, I miss trees as well_ ," he thought. " _Farthen Dûr is an incredible place, but it's as empty of plants and animals as Ajihad's tomb._ "

Saphira agreed. " _The dwarves seem to think that gems take the place of flowers_ _._ " She was silent as the light continued to fade. When it was too dark for Eragon to see comfortably, she said, " _It's late. We should return._ "

" _Alright_ _._ " She drifted toward the ground in great, lazy spirals, drawing nearer to Tronjheim - which glowed like a beacon in the center of Farthen Dûr. They were still far from the city-mountain when she swung her head, saying, " _Look._ "

He followed her gaze, but all he could see was the gray, featureless plain below them. " _What?_ "

Instead of answering, she tilted her wings and glided to their left, slipping down to one of the four roads that radiated from Tronjheim along the cardinal compass points. As they landed, he noticed a patch of white on a small hill nearby. The patch wavered strangely in the dusk, like a floating candle, then resolved into Angela, who was wearing a pale wool tunic.

The witch carried a wicker basket nearly four feet across and filled with a wild assortment of mushrooms, most of which Eragon did not recognize. As she approached, he gestured at them and said, "You've been gathering toadstools?"

"Hello," Angela laughed, putting her basket down. "Oh no, toadstool is far too general a term. And anyway, they really ought to be called _frog_ stools, not toadstools." She spread them with her hand. " _This_ one is sulphur tuft, and _this_ is an inkcap, and here's navelcap, and dwarf shield, russet toughshank, blood ring, and _that_ is a spotted deceiver. Delightful, isn't it!" She pointed to each in turn, ending on a mushroom with pink, lavender, and yellow splashed in rivulets across its cap

"And that one?" he asked, indicating a mushroom with a lightning-blue stem, molten-orange gills, and a glossy black two-tiered cap.

She looked at it fondly. "Fricai Andlát, as the elves might say. The stalk is instant death, while the cap can cure most poisons. It's what Tunivor's Nectar is extracted from. Fricai Andlát only grows in caves in Du Weldenvarden and Farthen Dûr, and it would die out here if the dwarves started carting their dung elsewhere."

Eragon looked back at the hill and realized that was exactly what it was, a dung heap.

"Hello, Saphira," said Angela, reaching past him to pat Saphira on the nose. Saphira blinked and looked pleased, tail twitching. At the same time, Solembum padded into sight, his mouth clamped firmly around a limp rat. Without so much as a flick of his whiskers, the werecat settled on the ground and began to nibble on the rodent, studiously ignoring the three of them.

"So," said Angela, tucking back a curl of her enormous hair, "off to Ellesméra?" Eragon nodded. He did not bother asking how she had found out; she always seemed to know what was going on. When he remained silent, she scowled. "Well, don't act so morose. It's not as if it's your execution!"

"I know."

"Then smile, because if it's not your execution, you should be happy! Unless you're traveling with that fun-killer Ikharos."

That surprised him. "You met him?"

Angela scowled. "Yes. He's a rude man."

Saphira chortled with amusement deep in her throat. " _Finally, someone understands!_ "

Angela hooked a fingernail underneath a mushroom and flipped it over, inspecting its gills as she said, "It's fortuitous we met tonight, as you are about to leave and I... I will accompany the Varden to Surda. As I told you before, I like to be where things are happening, and that's the place."

Eragon grinned even more. "Well then, that must mean we'll have a safe journey, else you'd be with us."

Angela shrugged, then said seriously, "Be careful in Du Weldenvarden. Just because elves do not display their emotions doesn't mean they aren't subject to rage and passion like the rest of us mortals. What can make them so deadly, though, is how they conceal it, sometimes for years."

"You've been there?"

"Once upon a time."

After a pause, he asked, "What do you think of Nasuada's plans?"

"Mmm... she's doomed! You're doomed! They're all doomed!" She cackled, doubling over, then straightened abruptly. "Notice I didn't specify what kind of doom, so no matter what happens, I predicted it. How very wise of me." She lifted the basket again, setting it on one hip. "I suppose I won't see you for a while, so farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don't eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!" And with a cheery wink, she strolled off, leaving Eragon blinking and nonplussed.

After an appropriate pause, Solembum picked up his dinner and followed, ever so dignified.

**000**

Ikharos waited at the gate of Tronjheim and meditated. He did his best to ignore Melkris' attempts to break his concentration, but he suspected it was a losing battle. The shockshooter tried to get a rise out of him with cheap jokes and awful insinuations to... stuff Ikharos wanted to forget entirely. Kiphoris was no help. The Captain just stood there and waited with his lower arms crossed and his upper hands resting on the hilts of his swords. Arke was perched upon his shoulder in the form of a hooded crow, but that was something Ikharos didn't want to go near with a ten-foot pole.

Javek, though, was a noble soul through and through. He tried to distract Melkris, but the latter was able to see through it.

At least Obleker's whining warning got through in the end. Melkris stopped the moment the Servitor told him to. Ikharos had been so close to snapping. He sent a soft wave in the nullscape to Obleker to convey his thanks.

Melkris wasn't done, thought. He just picked a new victim: Formora.

Ikharos couldn't see that going well.

"What's he saying?" She asked, alarmed.

Melkris cackled. Kiphoris just sighed tiredly.

They were joined by Eragon and Saphira just before the sun rose up. The newcomers exchanged greetings with those they knew. The Rider nervously asked, "Who is that?"

A soft, metallic sound followed. "Designation: Kida 99-40, R5 Specialist.

"Uh..."

"His name's Kida." Ikharos opened his eyes and stood up. "He's a Frame. A type of machine, much like the Skiff or a gun."

"He's... alive? Living metal?"

"Not exactly. He's got programming, like instincts, but no independent thoughts of his own. As smart as a weed, but infinitely more useful. He's here for security."

The Frame nodded. "Affirmative. Primary directive: obey R5 Specialist Ikharos."

Eragon stared at Kida and nodded slowly. Saphira sniffed the Frame and leaned back, eyeing it distastefully. Their horse - a beautiful snowy white beast - didn't look like it cared. Not that he imagined it would.

"What of your other soldiers?" Eragon asked the Captain. "What will they do?"

"They will guard Nasuada and watch for threats the Varden cannot hope to defeat," Kiphoris explained. "And they will act as a voice for mine-Scars. It is a risk," he glanced at Ikharos, "but we must all take risks in times of war."

Ikharos didn't pay him any mind. He just waited for the inevitable. And it arrived, just as he anticipated.

"You have a bird?"

Kiphoris spoke slowly, carefully considering each word. "This is Arke. I do not trust her if she is out of sight. I implore you, both of you, to keep away from her. Do not attempt to speak with her with word or mind. She is... dangerous."

The Ahamkara clucked in such a way that it sounded like a laugh. But she didn't say anything. Kiphoris had ordered her silent. She complied dutifully, yet the way she hungrily looked at everything around her still put Ikharos on edge.

Before long they were joined by a dwarf. Ikharos presumed him to be Orik, Hrothgar's emissary. The small man bore a heavy pack over his shoulders and held a covered bundle of cloth in his arms. He too asked after Kida. Ikharos gave him the same explanation, which had the same confused result.

In an obvious effort to change the subject, Eragon asked the dwarf, "What, no horse?"

Orik grunted. "We'll be stopping at Tarnag, just north of here. From there we take rafts along the Az Ragni to Hedarth, an outpost for trading with the elves. We won't need steeds before Hedarth, so I'll use my own feet till then. As I imagine our Eliksni friends will."

Kiphoris eyed Eragon's steed dubiously. "I do not believe horses can carry me," he admitted. "But there is no need. I am fast and far-reaching on mine-feet."

Orik nodded. He set the cloth bundle down with a clang, then unwrapped it, revealing Eragon's armor. The shield had been repainted - so the oak tree stood clearly in the center -and all the dings and scrapes removed. Beneath it was the long mail shirt, burnished and oiled until the steel gleamed brilliantly. No sign existed of where it had been rent when Durza cut Eragon's back. The coif, gloves, bracers, greaves, and helmet were likewise repaired.

Ikharos looked it over. It was... good, considering the technology of Kepler, but it wouldn't even stop a Dreg with a shock dagger. Not what he'd call quality. Then again, his standards for equipment were rather high. The Awoken had spoiled him.

"Our greatest smiths worked on these," Orik said, "as well as your armor, Saphira. However, since we can't take dragon armor with us, it was given to the Varden, who will guard it against our return."

"Saphira says thank you," Eragon said. "As do I."

The Rider laced on the greaves and bracers, storing the other items in his bags. Last of all, he reached for his helm, but Orik held onto it. The dwarf rolled the piece between his hands, then said, "Do not be so quick to don this, Eragon. There is a choice you must make first."

"What choice is that?"

Raising the helmet, Orik uncovered its polished brow. Etched in the steel were the hammer and stars of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. Orik scowled, looking both pleased and troubled, and said in a formal voice, "My king, Hrothgar, desires that I present this helm as a symbol of the friendship he bears for you. And with it Hrothgar extends an offer to adopt you as one of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, as a member of his own family."

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. He decided against asking after the technicalities of it. He was curious to see how it would play out.

" _Hrothgar seeks to restore the imbalance of power by doing this_ ," Formora said, touching his mind. " _Everyone wants a Dragon Rider._ "

" _They say the same about Risen back in Sol, but on Kepler I'm the only one around. For once being solitary has worked out in my favour._ "

" _The Eliksni already have you._ "

Ikharos frowned. " _Wouldn't put it like that. I'm still independent._ "

" _How long will that last, I wonder? Tarrhis wants your strength as part of his house. He'll do what he can to gain it. Mark my words._ "

" _You think so?_ "

" _I've played politics for most of my life, both as a Rider and one of the Forsworn. I know so._ "

"How often has this been done?" Eragon asked cautiously.

"For a human? Never. Hrothgar argued with the Ingeitum families for a day and a night before they agreed to accept you. If you consent to bear our crest, you will have full rights as a clan member. You may attend our councils and give voice on every issue. And," Orik grew very somber, "if you so wish, you will have the right to be buried with our dead."

Grim. But powerful. The enormity of the action was not lost on Ikharos.

With a swift motion, Eragon took the helm from Orik and pressed it down upon his head. "I am privileged to join Dûrgrimst Ingeitum."

" _Hook, line, and sinker_ ," Xiān whispered.

Orik grinned. "We are of the same clan now, eh? You are my foster brother! Under more normal circumstances, Hrothgar would have presented your helm himself and we would have held a lengthy ceremony to commemorate your induction into Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, but events move too swiftly for us to tarry. Fear not that you are being slighted, though! Your adoption shall be celebrated with the proper rituals when you and Saphira next return to Farthen Dûr. You shall feast and dance and have many pieces of paper to sign in order to formalize your new position."

"I look forward to the day," Eragon said.

Orik shrugged off his pack and drew his ax, which he proceeded to twirl between his palms. After several minutes, he leaned forward, glaring back into Tronjheim. " _Barzûl knurlar_! Where are they? Arya said she would be right here. Ha! Elves' only concept of time is late and even later."

"Have you dealt with them much?" asked Eragon, crouching.

The dwarf laughed suddenly. " _Eta_. Only Arya, and then sporadically because she traveled so often. In seven decades, I've learned but one thing about her: You can't rush an elf. Trying is like hammering a file - it might break, but it'll never bend."

Ikharos and Kiphoris subtly glanced at Formora. She looked right back. The Warlock got the sense that she was glaring at them with equal parts resentment and exasperation.

"Aren't dwarves the same?" Eragon asked, heedless of the death threats being flung left, right, and centre.

"Ah, but stone will shift, given enough time." Orik sighed and shook his head. "Of all the races, elves change the least, which is one reason I'm reluctant to go."

"But we'll get to meet Queen Islanzadí and see Ellesméra and who knows what else? When was the last time a dwarf was invited into Du Weldenvarden?"

Orik frowned at him. "Scenery means nothing. Urgent tasks remain in Tronjheim and our other cities, yet I must tramp across Alagaësia to exchange pleasantries and sit and grow fat as you are tutored. It could take years!"

Ikharos' expression shifted from one of amusement to one of horror. "Years? Not me."

Orik turned to face him. "Oh? You've business elsewhere?"

"Of course! I can't be wasting my time drinking faelnirv and singing to flowers! There's a war to be fought!" If looks could kill, Ikharos suspected he'd be dead a hundred times over. Formora's irritation was hardly subtle.

Orik hummed in agreement. "There is that." Another few minutes passed. "At last!" The dwarf said, pushing himself upright.

Nasuada approached, flanked on either side by the armoured and hooded forms of Paltis and Eldrin. Following her was Jörmundur, Murtagh, Tellesa, and Arya, who bore a pack like Orik's.

Nasuada stopped before Eragon and simply said, "You accepted."

He looked down.

"I wondered if you would. Now once again, all three races have a hold on you. The dwarves can claim your allegiance as a member of Dûrgrimst Ingeitum, the elves will train and shape you - and their influence may be the strongest, for you and Saphira are bound by their magic - and you have sworn fealty to me, a human... Perhaps it is best that we share your loyalty." She met the Rider's surprise with an odd smile.

Jörmundur extended a hand, which Eragon shook, feeling a bit dazed. "Have a good trip, Eragon. Guard yourself well." The man offered the same to Ikharos. The Warlock took it. "And you, milord."

"Do well by your people," Ikharos told him. Jörmundur nodded gravely.

Tellesa hugged Eragon and Saphira, then, without time for him to decline, Ikharos. He felt like she intentionally put more effort into his, as if trying to break his spine. "You trying to kill me?" He muttered.

She let go and rolled her eyes. "Just take care of them."

He scoffed. "Of course I will. You think I'm a heartless bastard?" When she didn't answer, he sighed and said. "I swear I'll guard them. Cross my heart and hope to die."

Tellesa made a funny face. "That's not very binding with you, is it?"

Kiphoris brushed past them and addressed his Marauders in Eliksni, saying, "You know your duty. Do well by the Scar's banner. Do not bring us shame. Understood?"

"Understood," the two barked in unison.

Ikharos' attention was redirected when Murtagh stepped in front of him. The young man dipped his head. "Thank you," he muttered, "for getting me out of the tunnel."

"You're very, very welcome. Keep Tellesa from making bad decisions."

Murtagh smiled. "Aye, I'll do that."

"You two think you're so funny," Tellesa rolled her eyes.

"Come," Arya said, gliding past them into the darkness of Farthen Dûr. "It is time to leave. _Aiedail_ has set, and we have far to go."

"Aye," Orik agreed. He pulled out a red lantern from the side of his pack.

* * *

They walked for days with nothing but Eliksni flashlights and dwarven lanterns for light. Ikharos hated every moment with it. He didn't like caves. Caves were Hive territory. The Aphelion encounter only brought his paranoia to new heights.

Nothing bothered them, though. And Melkris' efforts to lighten the mood almost took Ikharos' mind off the fact that they were at the mercy of whatever imaginary beast stalked the tunnels of the Beor Mountains. The shockshooter was ridiculous. He was always, _always_ , a glass half-full _eliko_ , and Ikharos didn't know whether to laugh along or throttle him.

Of course, the others weren't silent. And there were times that vibrant conversation ran supreme. Eragon was full of questions and Kiphoris was always ready to answer.

"How does the Skiff fly?" The Rider asked.

Kiphoris paused. "If I drop a _yaviirsi_ fig, what will it do?"

"It will... fall?"

" _Eia_. Gravity is a force. It keeps us upon this world. How does Saphira fly?"

"She uses her wings."

"To exert enough force to overcome gravity. Many creatures do this. But there are other methods besides wings. Mine-Skiff uses complex technology to power through gravity and attain control over where it goes. But this is all of only one approach: overpowering gravity. _Ikha Riis_ , I think, employs another."

Though he couldn't see it, Ikharos reckoned all eyes were on him. He reluctantly said, "True. I can use my Light to nullify gravity's effect on me entirely. I will go by, completely ignored. But I don't fly, per se. Just glide. It doesn't last very long."

More conversations followed that dynamic. Eragon would ask, Kiphoris would answer by explaining the physics or science behind it, and then he'd involve Ikharos by deflecting the question onto matters of paracausality. It wasn't unwelcome; Ikharos _did_ like to teach. But he would have rather kept silent all the same. Their voices sounded all too loud to him. It could have been the echoes or it could have been the fact that there was no other sound for miles in either direction.

Even the quietest of whispers became explosions of noise underground.

The worst part was the sheer... potential in the air around him. Paracausal potential. More than half of those present were capable of magic, with varying degrees of prowess. Javek was just a small spark waiting to be cultivated, while little Arke was a raging bonfire of otherwordly strength. The Ahamkara was the main worry - especially with the unpredictable Saphira in such close proximity - but the others were still cause for concern.

Eragon could kill with a single word. For someone of his age, that wasn't a power to be taken lightly. Ikharos' only consolation was that the Rider seemed a good sort. Not someone inclined to acts of casual violence.

It was the end of the second day that the tunnel ended and Orik led them back out into glorious sunlight. Ikharos held a hand over his eyes as they struggled to adapt to the glare of the sun. A wide, relieved grin was fixed on his face. The wilderness of the above was where he belonged, not buried beneath literal mountains of rock. The smell of pine and feel of the spring chill was just the familiarity he needed. It was something to ground him in reality and flush away the worries that had plagued him day and night within Farthen Dûr.

He didn't envy Formora. She had to keep her helmet on all the time, or risk being ousted as a former enemy by their comrades.

"Where now?" Kiphoris asked. Orik led them to a granite outcropping, which stood a hundred feet above a not-so-distant lake painted purple by the evening light. The lake filled the bottom of the valley, surrounded by thick forests and mountains. From the lake's far side, the river - named the Az Ragni - flowed north, winding between the peaks until, in the far distance, it rushed out onto the eastern plains.

Ikharos held out his arms and exulted in the feeling of the wind pulling at his combat robes. "The world is ours," he stated cheerfully.

Kiphoris chuckled and stood beside him at the outcropping's edge. "So it is. I think I am beginning to love this land, despite its horrors."

To their left, far below, stood the city of Tarnag. Here the dwarves had reworked the seemingly immutable Beors into a series of terraces. The lower terraces were mainly farms - dark curves of land waiting to be planted - dotted with squat halls, which as best he could tell were built entirely of stone. Above those empty levels rose tier upon tier of interlocking buildings until they culminated in a giant dome of gold and white. It was as if the entire city was nothing more than a line of steps leading to the dome. It had no great walls, no anti-air cannons to speak of, but it was all the more beautiful because of it. The people of Kepler hadn't suffered the global nightmare that was the Collapse.

"That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and home of Dûrgrimst Quan - the Quan clan - who act as servants and messengers to the gods," Orik explained.

The back of Ikharos' neck prickled and he narrowed his gaze upon the massive structure. ' _In the temple by the river, he must say his name and thus he will be bade enter._ '

"And this is their city?" Eragon asked.

It was Arya who answered him. "Nay," she said, stepped past the outcropping to follow the trail down the valley. "Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife... and gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn - the River Guard - who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ûndin, while here."

The path took them down to the edge of the lake before rising back toward Tarnag and its open gates. "How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?" asked Eragon. "Farthen Dûr I understand, but this... I've never seen anything like it."

Orik laughed softly. "Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities aboveground and retreat into our tunnels in order to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone who they encountered."

Ikharos resisted the urge to look at Formora.

Her mind brushed against his. " _Do you see why I must hide myself like a common criminal? It will only worsen when we encounter the elves._ "

" _No one is going to die_ ," Ikharos reassured her. " _Especially you. Kiphoris and I will be there. If worst comes to worst, I'll Warp us out of danger._ "

" _I'll hold you to that._ "

They had just crested a mound of dirt when an animal ran onto the path before them. Eragon and Saphira jolted with surprise, but the Eliksni and elves just stopped and watched the animal. They'd all seen it coming from some distance off.

The animal looked like some sort of mountain goat except it was as large as a mule. It was saddled and ridden by a dwarf armed with a lance.

" _Hert dûrgrims_ _t_? _Fild rastn_?" The strange dwarf shouted. He stared at Obleker uneasily. The Servitor, in turn, looked right back in eerie silence.

" _Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum_ ," Orik answered. " _Wharn, az vanyali-carharûg Arya oen Eliksni-Grimstborith Kiphoris. Né oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn._ "

The goat stared warily at Saphira. It knew what she was and what it potentially was to her. It had bright, intelligent eyes. Two massive horns curled around on either side of its head.

" _Azt jok jordn rast_ ," came the strange dwarf's reply. He directed his oversized goat to turn about and bound back into the forest.

"What was that?" Eragon asked, amazed.

Orik resumed walking. "A Feldûnost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Dûrgrimst Feldûnost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans."

"Why so?"

"We depend upon Feldûnost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their sustenance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorizing us, it was Dûrgrimst Feldûnost who risked themselves - and still do - to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their debt."

"Do all dwarves ride Feldûnost?"

"Only in the mountains. Feldûnost are hardy and sure-footed, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains."

" _Sloan'ze_?" Melkris quietly muttered.

"What did he say?" Eragon asked.

Ikharos smiled. "He wanted to know if he could eat one."

Saphira snorted. " _A question I too would like answered. Those animals would be good hunting, better than any I had in the Spine or hence!_ "

"I instruct you both to wait until the dwarves allow it," Kiphoris grunted. His eyes blinked humorously.

Orik chuckled. "I advise the same. Many a _knurlagn_ would be infuriated if you preyed upon their flocks."

Saphira took it in stride, but Melkris sulked. He looked longingly in the direction the Feldûnost had gone.

"I'm sure there will be food in the city," Ikharos told him in Low Speech. "Just be patient."

The shockshooter lifted his head. He pulled his mouth back into a fanged smile. "That is good. It has been so long since I have partaken of anything besides ether!"

"No it hasn't." Javek closed his inner eyes. "You ate something in Ceunon."

"That does not count."

"You said it was the greatest thing you ever tasted."

"Stop talking."

" _Nama_."

"Traitor." Melkris jostled the Splicer. "Where has all this new courage come from, I wonder? Magic has turned you!"

Javek scoffed and jostled right back. "Do not change the subject, you glutton!"

The two continued to squabble all the way to Tarnag. They only stopped when the city's gates came into view.

Groups of observers had already begun to gather in the fields when seven Feldûnost with jeweled harnesses bounded out from the city. Their riders bore lances tipped with pennants that snapped like whips in the air. Reining in his strange beast, the lead dwarf said, "Thou art well-come to this city of Tarnag. By _otho_ of Ûndin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls." He frowned at the sight of the Eliksni and their Servitor, but he masked any fear he held well.

"And by Hrothgar's _otho_ , we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," Orik responded.

"As do I, in Islanzadí's stead," Arya added.

"And I, on behalf of Tarrhis, Baron-Regent, and Mezha, Scar Kell." Kiphoris dipped his winged head graciously.

Appearing satisfied, Thorv motioned to his fellow riders, who spurred their Feldûnost into formation around them. With a flourish, the dwarves rode off, guiding them to Tarnag and through the city gates.

**000**

The central atrium of the Monoliks-Syn had been built to accommodate for the entirety of the Ketch's crew, but even so it was overflowing with Scars. The loss of sister-ships to the Hive - destroyed some time before coming to this cursed paradisiacal world - had resulted in overcrowding and put a strain on resources. Even without those who followed Tarrhis, there was far too little room.

All the same, the Scars made way for him. Skriviks shuffled his way forwards, his staff clanging off the metal floor with every step. Eyes were upon him, dragging him down with the weight of their gaze, but he soldiered on. Skriviks wouldn't give Krinok the satisfaction of seeing him falter, even if his withered body betrayed him at every turn.

Finally, he joined those nobles who stood at the far end on the immense pedestal. Monoliks Prime warbled a greeting. Skriviks dipped his head in reverence to the machine, a smile dancing in his inner eyes.

"Take your place," their Kell demanded.

The Archon suppressed a growl and stepped up to stand far to the right. His movements were stiff - both from age and reluctance to cave into Krinok's demands.

Others, both nobles of Valdas' making and Krinok's, watched him closely. Those given power by the Ether-Thief mistrusted him, Skriviks knew. The others, though, he knew not where their allegiance lay. The lesser Barons and - Vasto, Lokiis, Eskran - were not yet followers of the False-Kell, but neither did they support Tarrhis. They may even have had their own plans in place when Valdas passed.

The Captains were easier to read. When they should have answered to the Kell above all else, they in truth only followed their Barons. Ralkrosk and Krayd were different in that they answered directly to Krinok. They were vying for the Baronhood left in Tarrhis' absence. Blood would be spilled over it.

It would have been different if Valdas were still alive. She had been respected. Her orders were followed. Her word was law. Not so with Krinok. Nor, Skriviks reflected with no shortage of regret, Tarrhis. The wounds laid bare by Taniks were still fresh in the eyes of many. For Tarrhis to desert them dredged up memories they would have rather forgotten. It hadn't earned the exiled Baron any favours.

"Scars!" Krinok bellowed. He held out his arms in an effort to increase his perceived size. It was a petty effort; he already stood larger than anyone in the House. Skriviks scowled. "You have seen the world outside, yes?! You have seen the weakness of its natives?! The richness of their world?! There are lakes of ether to be had! Mountains of alloy! An abundance of power! These pests are dull! They do not see the weapons which lie within easy grasp!"

Laughter swept through those degenerates who followed the Ether-Thief without question. Most of them were gathered at the front of the massive crowd. Their vileness was rewarded with good standing. Skriviks despised it. Krinok's rule was of inverted order and wasteful death.

"If they are not capable of the necessary thought, then we will be cunning in their stead! This world hides secrets, and those secrets will bring us strength! We will tear those secrets from the clutches of these dirt-squatters! We will rip their petty kingdoms from them and take them for our own! We will run no longer! We flee no more! This will be the seat of our House!"

"What about the Great Machine?" Someone called from the crowd. A chant echoed it. "Great Machine! Great Machine!"

Krinok roared. The crowd quietened. "The Great Machine?!" He shouted incredulously. "Bah! It is gone! A forgotten thing of a forgotten age!"

Skriviks bristled. _How dare he-_

Claws wrapped around his shoulder. "No," murmured Inelziks, the Poet. "Be careful, Skriviks of Elder Days. They watch you."

The Archon gritted his fangs. He looked around and... yes. On the walls and the ceilings, hidden amongst those gathered to watch were those in Krinok's employ. They studied the nobles with narrowed eyes.

Krinok continued his tirade, unaware of Skrivik's near-fall into rebellion. "The Great Machine abandoned us! So let us abandon it! The Cabal needed no Great Machine to build their empire; neither will we! We will employ other machines, machines of our own making! Behold!" He swept an arm out. Behind him rumbled forward a monster of steel and wire. A skeletal creature with too many legs and too few arms.

Skriviks gasped. There were Servitor parts in it. "The heresy!" He hissed. He barely constrained it to a whisper. His survival instincts were smothered with rage.

"Stay yourself, mine-Archon. For your own health." Inelziks went on for a closer look, following Lokiis - her sworn-Baron.

He growled. This was too much. Krinok was mad. He had crossed every law the Eliksni held sacred. _To touch the flesh of a Servitor with malice? I cannot stomach this. I cannot._ Skriviks leaned on his staff, only half-aware of Monoliks Prime's horrified scream and the unnerved gasps of the gathered Scars. _Tarrhis must return. Must! Even a child-kel is better than this._

Eskran smiled broadly - not for the horrific machine, but for Krinok's words. A mere mention of the Cabal was enough to garner the Wildfire's interest. Oh, how he admired the Cabal for all their strength, all their power, all their ambition. His armour was forged of Cabal plate, ripped straight from their beloved Goliath hovertanks, and it clanked with every movement. His wings - imitations of the ceremonial garb worn by Uluru - swung out on either side of him. He began to laugh and cheer Krinok on.

Skriviks scowled. Another traitor.

Lokiis looked the massive war machine over and quietly returned to his perch. He was a gangly and sharp-eyed creature. His mind was sharper yet, like a new-forged plasmacutter. There was hope with him, but Skriviks didn't dare reach out. Lokiis was given to cunning that had been the downfall of many a house. He was materialistic above all else, and valued only results.

His mate, Velekris, was more agreeable and perhaps someone who could be turned to Tarrhis' side, but he was absent. Overseeing the construction of artillery emplacements around the downed Ketch. Such important work could not be delayed any further. Even maddened Krinok knew that.

* * *

Skriviks retreated to his workshop. It was his temple, where he freely loaded faith and tribute onto his Servitors, and where his people came for both guidance and stories.

Few came anymore. All knew he was no friend of Krinok, and none would risk their lives by making their own loyalties obvious. Fear permeated everything within the remnants of the House of Scar.

Those who did visit were often the untouchables. Those who did not care for the grunts and minions of the Ether-Thief. Inelziks was one such being. She was the pride of the house. And a source of bitterness for Skriviks.

"What is it?" He demanded. His tools were in disarray. Skriviks had been rushed through his clean-up to attend the Kell's summons. He hated an untidy workshop.

"You are not long for this life," she glided across the floor and picked up a hydrotool. She was elegant and graceful, but her presence only irked him.

Skriviks huffed. "Oh? You think Krinok will kill me?"

"He seeks to replace you with someone more... loyal."

"To kill an Archon is heresy."

"You know he doesn't care about what is and what is not permitted. In his eyes, there are no laws but his own."

Skriviks sneered and bared his teeth. "And you came to warn me? I had not thought you cared for our faith. Not after you abandoned it."

Inelziks didn't look at him. She was too proud for that. "I never abandoned it. I merely found another place in which to practice it."

"In battle? In songs? You think those please the Great Machine?"

"You think they don't?"

"We had many songs before the Whirlwind. And many warriors armed with great skill. None of it stopped the Great Machine from leaving us." His voice fell to a growl. "You were an Archpriest. I considered you to be mine-heir. And you chose to become a Captain, lesser in standing."

"Drotos is faithful enough, no? Mine-voice aches for creating new art, not chanted mantras. It is mine-destiny to sing. I will give us new history to remember, new heroes to commemorate, new glories to weave onto our banner. Your tales give us pride, Skriviks, but it is a bitter pride. You remind us of champions and riches we will never recover. I only wish to give our people hope."

"And what hope would that be?" Skriviks snapped. "Krinok's madness?"

Inelziks sighed. "I have come because we have heard whispers across the radio channels. Tales from our exiled kin. Mere scatterings of words, but important enough to garner attention."

"Speak it, then. And do not sully this place any longer."

"The Great Machine. Tarrhis' people speak of a blessing from the Great Machine. They speak of it with giddiness and yearning. They have found something, but we do not yet know what." She dropped the hydrotool. "I thought you would like to know."

She left him alone with his questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	41. Celbedeil

Tarnag's walls weren't high, but they were thick and sturdy. Formidable - to dwarves. Perhaps baseline humans and Urgals too. But to Eliksni, Risen, and elves? Completely ineffective. Not that they needed to worry about that. The only Eliksni, Risen, and elves present were entering at the invitation of the dwarves within.

In contrast to Tarnag's thickly built ramparts, the buildings within, though of stone, were shaped with such cunning as to give the impression of grace and lightness. Strong, bold carvings, usually of animals, adorned the houses and shops. But even more striking was the stone itself: vibrant hues, from bright scarlet to the subtlest of greens, glazed the rock in translucent layers. The masonry was art. Dwarves had truly mastered the skill of shaping rock.

Unlike Tronjheim, Tarnag had been constructed in proportion to the dwarves, with no concession for human, elf, or dragon visitors. At the most, doorways were five feet high, and they were often only four and a half. It posed a problem for much of their group if every building was shaped like that, particularly Kiphoris and Saphira.

Arke took off from Kiphoris' shoulder and cawed loudly. She beat her wings again and again until she was a distant shadow under the sun. Ikharos wasn't worried about her flying off - she would be too fascinated with feeding from their desires to leave them in peace.

The streets were wide and crammed. Dwarves of various clans hurried about their business or stood haggling in and around shops. Many were garbed in strange, exotic costumes, such as a block of fierce black-haired dwarves who wore silver helmets forged in the likeness of wolf heads. Kiphoris studied them, head tilted at a curious angle.

"Yeah, wolves," Ikharos muttered.

The Captain nodded. "Those representations are intriguing. They must be fearsome beasts."

Ikharos hesitated. "They're... not quite as dangerous as the stories make them out to be. But they're complex animals. And they used to be widespread all across Earth. That's where the fascination comes from."

At the Feldûnost's piercing footsteps, the dwarves turned to look at the new arrivals. They did not cheer, but some bowed their heads. Others stared at the Eliksni and Obleker with open wonder and unease. Javek and Melkris followed Kiphoris' lead and didn't utter a word. Their hands never strayed far from their weapons, but they didn't act rashly, which was all Ikharos could ask for.

Obleker hummed uncertainly. It was not a large Servitor, though its appearance alone was still enough cause for fear among those unfamiliar with the Eliksni machines. Ikharos placed his hand against the robot's shell and tenderly nudged his Light against the Servitor's Void. Obleker pressed into his touch, seeking comfort.

Eragon's reforged helmet turned heads. And not in a good way. As they saw the hammer and stars upon the helm, wonder was replaced by shock and, in many cases, outrage. A number of the angrier dwarves contracted around the Feldûnost, glaring between the animals at Eragon and shouting imprecations in their native tongue.

Thorv and the other dwarven guards rode forward as if the crowd was nonexistent, clearing the way through seven additional tiers until only a single gate separated them from the mass of Celbedeil. Then Thorv turned left, toward a great hall pressed against the side of the mountain and protected in fore by a barbican with two watchtowers.

As they neared the hall, a group of armed dwarves streamed out from between the houses and formed a thick line, blocking the street. Long purple veils covered their faces and draped over their shoulders, like mail coifs. Ikharos grasped his Lumina's holster and prepared to draw it. Beside him, Kiphoris bristled and growled lowly. Formora was silent and still, but she was armed with a language as dangerous as any blade.

Their guards immediately reined in their Feldûnost, faces hard. "What is it?" Eragon asked Orik, but the dwarf only shook his head and strode forward, a hand on his axe.

" _Etzil nithgech_!" A veiled dwarf cried, raising his fist. " _Formv Jurgencarmeitder nos eta goroth bahst Tarnag, dûr encesti rak kythn_! _Jok is warrev az barzûlegûr dûr dûrgrimst, Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, môgh tor rak Jurgenvren_? _Né ûdim etal os rast knurlag. Knurlag ana_ _-_ "

" _Vrron_!" Thorv barked, cutting him off, then the two dwarves began arguing.

Then Eragon shifted to look past Kiphoris and the veiled dwarf abruptly fell silent, pointing at Eragon's helm with an expression of horror.

" _Knurlag qana qirânû Dûrgrimst Ingeitum_!" He screamed. " _Qarzûl ana Hrothgar oen volfild-_ "

"I tire of this chatter," Kiphoris said. His sonorous voice easily overpowered that of the dwarf. The Scar Captain stepped forward, hard eyes narrowed to slits. "Make your intentions known or remove yourselves."

The veiled dwarf glared at him, red-faced and seething.

" _Jok is frekk dûrgrimstvren_?"Orik quietly added, drawing his axe.

The strange dwarf stared hard at Orik, then removed an iron ring from his pocket, plucked three hairs from his beard, twined them around the ring, and threw it onto the street with an impervious clink, spitting after it. Without a word, the purple-shrouded dwarves filed away.

Thorv, Orik, and the other dwarven warriors flinched as the ring bounced across the granite pavement. Even the elves seemed taken aback. Two of the younger dwarves blanched and reached for their blades, then dropped their hands as Thorv barked, " _Eta_!"

"What does that mean?" Ikharos asked. He kept watch on the direction the veiled dwarves had gone. They looked angry; he wouldn't put it past them to turn back around and attempt something bold.

"It means," Thorv said carefully, "that Eragon has enemies."

Kiphoris twirled about and snapped, in Eliksni, "Melkris! Watch over the Beast-Rider. Do not let him come to harm!"

The shockshooter saluted. "As you wish, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_." He stepped to Eragon's side and cast a suspicious look around the near-empty street.

They moved on, quickly, and watched that they were not followed. They hurried through the barbican to a wide courtyard arrayed with three banquet tables, decorated with lanterns and banners. Before the tables stood a group of dwarves, foremost among them a gray-bearded dwarf swathed in wolfskin. He spread his arms and said, "Welcome to Tarnag, home of Dûrgrimst Ragni Hefthyn. We have heard much praise of you, Eragon Dragon Rider and Ikharos Shadeslayer. I am Ûndin, son of Derûnd and clan chief."

Another dwarf stepped forward. He had the muscled shoulders and chest of a warrior, topped with hooded black eyes that never left Ikharos. "And I, Gannel, son of Orm Blood-Axe and clan chief of Dûrgrimst Quan."

"It is an honor." Ikharos inclined his head.

"And you must be Kiphoris, Captain of the Eliksni," Ûndin turned to face the Captain.

Kiphoris grunted. "I am. Many thanks for allowing us within your city, _Ûndin-Mrelliks_. You have already greeted Ikharos, but the rest of mine-crew are Javeks the Technician, Melkris the Sharp-Eyed, Obleker-17, and Zeshus."

The two dwarves welcomed to each named individual. "Your people are welcome here," Ûndin announced. He and Gannel went on to greet Arya and Orik, but the latter responded only by holding out the iron ring.

Ûndin's eyes widened, and he gingerly lifted the ring, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a venomous snake. "Who gave this to you?"

"It was Az Sweldn rak Anhûin. And not to me, but to Eragon."

Alarm spread across their faces. Kiphoris stepped forward and asked, "Will this mean trouble? I have an interest in seeing Eragon safely to the elves. I would not see him come to harm."

Ûndin frowned. "We must consult on this issue." He exhaled and looked up. "Shadeslayer, a feast is prepared in your honor. If you would allow my servants to guide you to your quarters, you can refresh yourself, and then we might begin."

Ikharos nodded stiffly. "That would be welcome. Thank you." He allowed himself to be guided into the dwarven halls. The room they gave him was, fortunately, spacious enough that he wasn't in danger of banging his head against the ceiling. A marble basin was set into the floor, filled with scalding hot water. The heat permeated through the material of his glove. Ikharos groaned - this was a luxury he had been without for far too long.

Xiān transmatted his armour away. Ikharos peeled off the underlying biosuit and sank into the basin. The heat suffused his muscles, releasing a year's worth of pent-up tension. He laid his head against the edge of the pool and allowed his mind to float into the tranquility of the nullscape.

Perhaps only ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. With immense reluctance, Ikharos pulled himself out, dried himself with a brief usage of Solar, and allowed Xiān to drop him more casual clothes. The garb she chose were of Awoken make, the kind they would wear when attending the Queen's court. He wore a magenta shirt with grey sleeves, grey leggings, faded red gloves, ivory-white boots, and a black shoulder-cloak fitted with a clasp showing not the locked-fangs symbol of the Reef but a drawn hunting bow. He slipped his knife into a hidden sheath on one of the boots and tied the Lumina's holster to his hip. Going without armour was one thing, but without weapons was quite another. He didn't dare go anywhere unarmed.

Ikharos did his best to comb back his hair and beard - turned wild from lack of attention - but he sensed it was a losing battle. The person outside knocked again. Ikharos gave up and opened the door. Kida stood just beyond. The Frame presented him with a salute. A terribly confused dwarf stood beside the robot, gawking up at it.

"Sir," Kida greeted. "Dinner is almost ready. Extrasolar entity 493402, designation: Kiphoris, sent me to retrieve you."

Ikharos gestured down the hallway. "Lead on."

* * *

Ûndin and the other dwarves were gathered in the courtyard, along with Saphira, who had situated herself at the head of a table. Kiphoris stood off to the side, upper arms crossed. Melkris was nowhere in sight - so likely still with Eragon - but Javek was seated at one of the tables, attempting to speak with Arya. The language-barrier was a heavy obstacle, but the young Eliksni was trying his best.

Ikharos joined Kiphoris. The Captain looked him over and said, "You dress well. Like an off-duty Corsair."

"And you haven't dressed appropriately at all."

Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "I am. You know this as well as I do that armour is formal dress among mine-people."

"Just having a poke." Ikharos looked around. "Where's Arke?"

"Hunting. Animals, not people. I made her promise."

"Fine. And Mora?"

"She has... extricated herself. If asked, we must excuse her by saying she is guarding Obleker as he feeds. Which is... not untrue. And, I hope, it will distract our hosts with a new topic."

"Suave," Ikharos commented. He paused. "Thank you. You didn't have to do this for her, so... thank you."

Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. "Whether we hold bad blood or a close friendship between us, we are a crew. And a crew must cooperate, or the Skiff will not fly."

Ikharos smiled. "That's a nice analogy. It might have worked better if you hadn't split the crew up."

"You understand mine-meaning."

"I do." Another pause. Ikharos sighed. "What is this?"

Kiphoris tilted his head. "Hm?"

"This. Us. Our... partnership. What the hell is this?"

The Wolf nodded slowly. "Ah. I... do not know."

"You want to kill me, I'm not so keen on the idea, and yet we have to-"

"No, that is not it."

Ikharos frowned. "What?"

Kiphoris pointed at him with a single, accusatory claw. "Do I wish for your death? It is not mine-aim. I seek only to return unto you what you visited to me. Realize, _Ikha Riis_ , the fate you handed over. You did not kill me. No, you banished me to the machines. To the Vex. I suffered forever within their time-lost nation. Forever. I have suffered, I do suffer, and I will suffer. I suffer always. There will be a Kiphoris within the Network at all times, scraping out a survival in a place not meant for beings of flesh and blood."

Ikharos felt his anger rise up as a sharp retort... but it died away into a pained wince. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He averted his gaze and found a spot on the stone floor to focus on.

"I want this feud balanced, but it never will be. There is no punishment terrible enough to match. Anything else would be... petty. Childish, as you would say. Unequal and thus not worth the effort. But I want our duel to come so that you understand not my pain, but mine-fury. I need you to understand it." Kiphoris quietened. "I have grown, _Ikha Riis_. The Vex were a teacher to me. Not a kind teacher, not a caring one, but they taught me all the same. Just as, I suspect, Oryx did for you."

Ikharos' breath caught in his throat.

* * *

_The demon's wings shadowed everything. His three eyes glowed like sadistic, hungry stars. His sword was his word, his mind, his power, and Ikharos could feel its creation-old razor edge in every exhalation of the colossal god._

_Every moment was a battle. Simply being alive was a struggle. The God-King's very presence exuded death. Every exhalation threatened to smother them with Darkness. Every inhalation pulled at his soul, as if to devour it._

* * *

"They taught me to grow and think as I never did before. And I grew past their lessons. I grew and I climbed. I climbed and climbed forever until I pierced the crust of a cold, lifeless world. Then I began to starve. I pieced together a weak signal emitter out of a shock pistol and a dead Vex head. It was nothing short of a miracle that the Scars found me still clinging to life. A blessing of the Great Machine.  
"I seek to grow further. Beyond the scope of mine-anger so that I might expend myself fully into my duty for mine-people. But I cannot until I cut away that which keeps it alive. You keep it alive."

"So one of us has to die?"

The Captain hesitated. "I would be foolish to call you worthy of killing. We both have bloodied hands. You have done good by killing, but also evil. Your intentions are pure, but your methods are questionable. You place value on innocent life, but if something is opposed to you it loses all right to innocence."

"Everything I've done has been-"

"In defense of your people, I know. I will not begrudge you that. Mine-people are not clean of terrible deeds, I will admit, but neither are yours."

"It would be easier if we could all forget. Start anew."

Kiphoris eyed him critically. "You would want that for our peoples? Or us?"

Ikharos shrugged. "Both would be preferable. I'm not going to say you're perfect-"

The Captain snorted.

"-but you saved three humans you didn't know. You saved Tellesa. You've been nothing short of civil with everyone we meet. I'm... grateful for that. I'm grateful to have allies. Fighting alone is... not ideal. If you want a fight to the death when all this is over, fine. But until then, can we go without all the veiled threats and insults? Please? Can we just... I don't know, pretend to be allies?"

Kiphoris stayed silent for a while. Ikharos started to believe he wasn't going to say anything. Then the Captain whispered, "So be it. Your demand is acceptable." He clasped Ikharos' forearm and sent him a searching look. "I ask that we be honest with one another. I have no wish to see the humans suffer, and I hope you hold to the same opinion towards mine-Eliksni. I am gifting you my trust, _Ikha Riis_. Do not squander it."

Ikharos inclined his head. "Thanks."

Ûndin seated himself at the other end of Saphira's table. "Would you join me, Ikharos?" He asked, gesturing to the seat to his right. Ikharos complied. Eragon sat opposite the Warlock and beside Orik. Kiphoris took the place to Ikharos' left, but he had to move the small dwarven stool out of the way and kneel. The vast difference in size between the dwarves and the Eliksni was almost laughable.

When everyone had their place, Ûndin slapped the table and roared, " _Ignh az voth_!"

Servants streamed out of the hall, bearing platters of beaten gold piled high with meats, pies, and fruit. They divided into three columns - one for each table - and deposited the dishes with a flourish. Kiphoris had to bark at Melkris to hold back so as to not risk insulting their host.

Before them were soups and stews filled with various tubers, roasted venison, long hot loaves of sourdough bread, and rows of honeycakes dripped with raspberry preserve. In a bed of greens lay filleted trout garnished with parsley, and on the side, pickled eel stared forlornly at an urn of cheese, as if hoping to somehow escape back into a river. A swan sat on each table, surrounded by a flock of stuffed partridges, geese, and ducks.

Then the centerpiece of the feast was revealed: a gigantic roasted boar, glistening with sauce. The beast was larger than a horse. The tusks were longer than most swords, the snout as wide as a barrel. It smelled delicious.

"Nagra," Ûndin announced. "Only the bravest dwarves dare hunt Nagran. We wish to honour you, Shadeslayer! We, the Ragni Hefthyn, give thanks for destroying that Shade monster! And to you, Kiphoris, for shattering the resolve of the Urgal savages!"

Ikharos dipped his head as graciously as he could. "Thank you."

Kiphoris echoed the statement.

" _Smer voth_ ," commanded Ûndin, smiling at his guests. The servants immediately drew small curved knives and cut portions of the Nagra, which they set on everyone's plates - except for Arya's. They included a weighty piece for Saphira. Ûndin smiled again, took a dagger, and sliced off a sliver of meat and ate it.

Ûndin chewed slowly, rolling his eyes and nodding in an exaggerated fashion, then swallowed and proclaimed, " _Ilf gauhnith_!"

Conversation erupted along each table. Melkris practically tore off his helmet and attacked his platter with starving savagery. Alternatively, Kiphoris carefully laid his grand helmet beside him, revealing his plumage of dark blue setae, and partook of his meal with careful, polite consideration. Nonetheless, all the Eliksni quickly went through their own portions with startling speed.

Ikharos found himself enjoying the meal more than he anticipated. It was immensely flavoursome, and he savoured every bite.

"This is luxurious," Kiphoris commented. "Food is in plenty here. Even if given a choice, mine-people may prefer to remain."

"And what of you?" Ikharos asked curiously.

"I think I would agree with them. Sol is torn by war and nightmares. This place is not. I want to keep mine-people safe above all else. This might be the sanctuary we seek."

Ikharos nodded thoughtfully. "Then I guess you're going with the right way of things, what with all the alliances you're building up."

"Ah, but there is still much work to be done before that decision arrives, true?"

"True."

Ûndin cleared his throat. Those nearest lowered their voices or stopped talking altogether. "Tell me, Kiphoris," he began, "where do your people hail from? I have neither seen or heard of anything like your people."

The Captain considered the question. More than a few listened in. "Mine-people hail from the cold lands of Riis. It... was a place of art and wealth. Or so I am told. I have only heard stories of mine-ancestral homeland."

Ûndin frowned. "You do not come from there?"

"No. Riis was laid to waste by the Demon King, Oryx, long ago. Mine-people have been wandering ever since. I was hatched upon one of mine-people's ships, like many of my brethren. I never knew the comforts of Riis."

"Hatched?" Eragon asked. "Eliksni come from eggs?"

Kiphoris clowly clicked his mandibles with amusement. "I do. Is this truly odd? Saphira was born of an egg, yes?"

The dragon snorted. Smoke trailed from her nostrils. " _I was_ ," she said, sending her voice out across the table.

"Who is Oryx?" Arya asked.

Kiphoris gestured to Ikharos. "He would answer it better than I."

Ikharos rolled his eyes. "Aw, thanks," he muttered. The Captain chuckled. Ikharos raised his voice. "Oryx was the God-King of the Hive, a particularly brutish and sadistic people. They're wanderers too, but they wander out of ambition. They look for opponents to kill, civilizations to destroy, legacies to break."

"That's... horrible," Eragon said. He looked troubled.

Ikharos nodded. "It is. They're a bunch of vile nihilists. But their fangs have been blunted as of recently. Oryx died a few years back. From then on it's been defeat after defeat for the Hive. They've lost their edge."

"How did he die?" Arya questioned.

Ikharos hesitated. "I killed him. In his throne room. He came for my people, so I was one of those sent to break the Hive host. Toughest fight I've ever fought."

"With luck, you might do the same for Galbatorix," Gannel proclaimed.

A brief silence reigned for a short while, but the conversations gradually picked back up again. Soon, the topic came back to Ikharos. "Where are you from, Shadeslayer?" Ûndin inquired. "I have heard that you do not call Alagaësia home."

Ikharos smiled lightly. "No, I do not. But I don't really call anywhere home. Like the Eliksni, I'm a bit nomadic. I came to life in the city of London, but it was destroyed on that very day, so I didn't have long enough to make a connection with the place. I drifted for a long time after that. I founded my own settlement of sorts, but that had to be abandoned when the Hive got too close. After that, I joined up with the Guardians of the Last City of Earth, but... certain circumstances forced me to drift again. Then I found myself briefly staying in the Reef, among the Awoken peoples."

"Awoken?"

"Former humans. They ventured out to a place that changed them. Their skin dances with starlight and their eyes glow. And they often have colourful hair. But yeah, I lived with them for a short while, and... well, I came here."

Ûndin nodded thoughtfully. "So you hail from across the seas?"

Ikharos hesitated for a split-second. Only Arya seemed to pick up on it. "Yes," he answered.

The elf narrowed her eyes suspiciously, yet she didn't say anything. Ikharos studiously ignored her.

Their host accepted it with a smile. "Ah, it is good to know we are not alone in this war. You must tell me, how did your alliance with the Eliksni come to be?"

Ikharos glanced at Kiphoris. "Their people and mine have had a... complicated history. I've known of Eliksni all my life. I've learned their language and their culture. I only met the House of Scar a little ways back, near Ceunon, but previous experiences with other houses paved the way for our partnership."

Kiphoris dipped his head: a show of concurrence. He evidently found no issue with the explanation.

The hours whipped by. The feast was so large that it was late afternoon before the last course had been served. As servants removed the tableware, Ûndin turned to Eragon and said, "The meal pleased you, yes?"

"It was delicious."

Ûndin nodded. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I had the tables moved outside yesterday so the dragon might dine with us."

"Saphira and I thank you," Eragon said. "Sir, why was the ring thrown at us?"

Ikharos glanced around the table. A painful silence crept over the courtyard. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orik wince. Arya, however, smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile.

Ûndin put down his dagger, scowling thickly. "The _knurlagn_ you met are of a tragic clan. Before the Riders' fall, they were among the oldest, richest families of our kingdom. Their doom was sealed, though, by two mistakes: they lived on the western edge of the Beor Mountains, and they volunteered their greatest warriors in Vrael's service. Galbatorix and his ever-cursed Forsworn slaughtered them in your city of Urû'baen. Then they flew on us, killing many. Of that clan, only Grimstcarvlorss Anhûin and her guards survived. Anhûin soon died of grief, and her men took the name Az Sweldn rak Anhûin, The Tears of Anhûin, covering their faces to remind themselves of their loss and their desire for revenge.

"So," Ûndin continued, glowering at a pastry, "they rebuilt the clan over the decades, waiting and hunting for recompense. And now you come, bearing Hrothgar's mark. It is the ultimate insult to them, no matter your service in Farthen Dûr. Thus the ring, the ultimate challenge. It means Dûrgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhûin will oppose you with all their resources, in every matter, big or small. They have set themselves against you utterly, declared themselves blood enemies."

"Do they mean me bodily harm?" Eragon asked stiffly.

Ûndin's gaze faltered for a moment as he cast a look at Gannel, then he shook his head and uttered a gruff laugh that was, perhaps, louder than the occasion warranted. "No, Dragon Rider! Not even they would dare hurt a guest. It is forbidden. They only want you gone, gone, gone. Please, let us talk no more of these unpleasant matters. Gannel and I have offered our food and mead in friendship; is that not what matters?"

The priest murmured in concordance.

"It is appreciated," Eragon replied.

* * *

When the feast was over and their hosts retired for the night, Ikharos quietly left the keep and the city. The act of leaving was easy. The gates and walls presented no barrier to him. Not while he could Blink past every barricade. He didn't want to alarm the dwarves, so he told no one but Kiphoris and Javek. Melkris had been nigh on unconscious at that point - he'd eaten far too much.

Ikharos brought a veil of Void over him, masking him from sight. It was needless; few people were around to see him. The city had fallen into a deep slumber. The only issue he had with the place was the glare of the magical lanterns the dwarves employed. They lit up the entire river valley. It was irksome.

Tarnag was evidently not a place he'd settle down in.

Extricating himself from the confines of the dwarven city was simple, but the difficult part lay ahead. He let go of the Void and opened up his bare Light, trying to find a trace of paracausal energies. He caught a faint whiff of it and zoned in, slipping into the forest surrounding Tarnag. He found them in a small clearing, by a clear peaceful pool. Formora was sitting on a rock, helmetless and marveling at the moon high above. Obleker was freely feeding from a mineral deposit by the water's edge.

"Hey," Ikharos called out softly. Formora turned to him.

"Hello," she smiled. "How was the feast?"

"It was pretty good. Heard some stories. Told some in return."

"Did anything noteworthy happen?"

Ikharos explained all he knew of the Az Sweldn rak Anhûin clan, and the reason for spiting Eragon.

Formora's gaze dropped back to the pool. "I remember. Those were unpleasant times."

Ikharos sat down beside her. "Have you eaten? I could get Xiān to fetch some food."

" _Fetch it yourself_ ," his Ghost hissed.

" _It's your turn to be nice._ "

" _I hate being nice. No._ "

" _You are... so, so very difficult._ "

"No," Formora said, "but thank you." She glanced at him. "What are you wearing?"

Ikharos looked down at himself. "Reefborn regalia."

"It looks impressive." She smiled. "You almost seem like a true lord."

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Almost?"

"You're too ragged for an aristocrat." Her smile fell. "Do ever look at your reflection and think ' _I've done enough for them_ '?"

The question caught him off guard. Ikharos hesitated. "That's... I don't know."

"You push yourself again and again for others. You exert every effort to help those in need. To help everyone in need. You ask for no reward. Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do?"

"Ikharos, this war is not yours. This world is not yours. Why?"

He shrugged helplessly. "Because it's what I'm meant to do. I'm only alive because I'm designed to fight on behalf of humanity."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I can't speak for your Traveler, and that may very well have been it's initial intent, but you're a being with free will. You can choose your own future."

Ikharos solemnly met her gaze and tried to convey what he felt. "I have. I've chosen to follow the path laid out for me. I help people. It's the right thing to do. And I will continue to fight until my final death."

"That's a noble purpose."

"It's the only purpose I have. I'm Risen. I don't have family. I don't have a home. I don't have anything but all these lives. I might as well use them for good."

"How do you know you fight for good? What if Nezarec is sacrificing us to save an even greater amount of people?"

"Because killing a world can never be justified. Because the Dark warps its practitioners into monsters. Because I don't want the people here to die."

Formora nodded like something had been confirmed. "Good."

"Was this some form of a test?"

"Perhaps."

"Surely by killing Durza, by killing the Aphelion, and by bringing the fight to the Cabal I've already proven myself."

"True."

Ikharos groaned. "I swear, you're being vague just to irritate me."

Formora grinned. "Is it working?"

"Yes. Too well."

They fell quiet, happily so. The night was serene and peaceful. It almost convinced him that everything was going to be alright.

Then, "I'm terrified."

Ikharos waited a moment. "About going back to your people?"

Formora nodded ever so slightly. "Yes. I don't want to die."

"You won't."

"That doesn't reassure me. As powerful as you may be, my people are numerous. They are clever. And many hold grudges."

"We only have to explain it to them."

"You and Kiphoris are too optimistic," Formora said bitterly. "My people hate me. And I don't want to die. Not before Galbatorix falls. Not before Nezarec is destroyed. And not even afterwards. My eyes have been opened up to a horizon beyond my world. I can't not learn about it. But that scares me too."

"It does?"

"My world is changing. Rapidly so. Or maybe the illusion is just being pulled away. You were the start: an immortal spellcaster with command over a force more potent than magic. Now warriors and conquerors from the stars are arriving in force, with weapons and machines capable of smashing any resistance before them." She sighed. "We can't go back now. I can't. This is my reality, and the uncertainty of it frightens me."

Silence fell over them once more. Ikharos felt out of place. He was going blind. People weren't his forte.

"I'm going to investigate Celbedeil tomorrow," he announced. "I think it's the temple by the river. What the message in the Blasted Mountains told me to go to."

Formora frowned. "It does fit the description. It could be a trap, just like Du Fells Nángoröth. Bring someone with you."

"Kiphoris," he said instantly. "He can hold his own _and_ help me figure out any further riddles."

"Promise me you two won't kill each other."

"We're not children," Ikharos defended. "We're responsible adults."

"From the way you act, I've yet to be convinced."

**000**

The dawnless morning found Eragon in Ûndin's main hall, listening as the clan chief spoke to Orik in Dwarvish. Ûndin broke off as Eragon approached, then said, "Ah, Dragon Rider. You slept well?"

"Yes."

"Good." He gestured at Orik. "We have been considering your departure. I had hoped you'd be able to spend some time with us. But under the circumstances, it seems best if you resume your journey early tomorrow morning, when few are in the streets who might trouble you. Supplies and transportation are being readied even as I speak. It was Hrothgar's orders that guards should accompany you as far as Ceris. I have increased their numbers from three to seven."

"And in the meantime?"

Ûndin shrugged his fur-bound shoulders. "I had intended to show you the wonders of Tarnag, but it would be foolish now for you to wander mine city. However, Grimstborith Gannel has invited you to Celbedeil for the day. Accept if you wish. You'll be safe with him." The clan chief seemed to have forgotten his earlier assertion that Az Sweldn rak Anhûin would not harm a guest.

"Thank you, I might do that." As Eragon left the hall, he pulled Orik aside and asked, "How serious is this feud, really? I need to know the truth."

Orik answered with obvious reluctance: "In the past, it was not uncommon for blood feuds to endure for generations. Entire families were driven extinct because of them. It was rash of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin to invoke the old ways; such a thing has not been done since the last of the clan wars... Until they rescind their oath, you must guard against their treachery, whether it be for a year or a century. I'm sorry that your friendship with Hrothgar has brought this upon you, Eragon. But you are not alone. Dûrgrimst Ingeitum stands with you in this."

Once outside, Eragon hurried to Saphira, who had spent the night coiled in the courtyard. " _Do you mind if I visit Celbedeil_ _?_ "

" _Go if you must. But take Zar'roc._ " He followed her advice, also tucking Nasuada's scroll into his tunic. Melkris, the strange Eliksni who Kiphoris had designated as Eragon's guard, shadowed him.

When Eragon approached the gates to the hall's enclosure, five dwarves pushed the rough-hewn timbers aside, then closed in around him, hands on their axes and swords as they inspected the street. The guards remained as Eragon retraced the previous day's path to the barred entrance of Tarnag's uppermost tier. Melkris remained at the rear of the group, his glowing eyes piercing the hazy veil of morning.

Eragon shivered. The city seemed unnaturally empty. Doors were closed, windows were shuttered, and the few pedestrians in evidence averted their faces and turned down alleys to avoid walking past him. _They're scared to be seen near me,_ he realized. _Perhaps because they know Az Sweldn rak Anhûin will retaliate against anyone who helps me._ Eager to escape the open street, Eragon found the gates at the front of the temple's compound and raised his hand to knock, but before he could, one door grated outward, and a black-robed dwarf beckoned from within. Tightening his sword belt, Eragon entered, leaving his guards outside. Melkris waited by the entrance, clicking his teeth.

His first impression was of color. A burning-green sward splayed around the pillared mass of Celbedeil, like a mantle dropped over the symmetrical hill that upheld the temple. Ivy strangled the building's ancient walls in foot after foot of hairy ropes, dew still glittering on the pointed leaves. And curving above all but the mountains was the great white cupola ribbed with chiseled gold.

His next impression was of smell. Flowers and incense mixed their perfumes into an aroma so ethereal, Eragon felt as if he could live on the scent alone.

Last was sound, for despite clumps of priests strolling along mosaic pathways and spacious grounds, the only noise Eragon could discern was the soft thump of a crow's wingbeats flying overhead.

The dwarf beckoned again and strode down the main avenue toward Celbedeil. As they passed under its eaves, Eragon could only marvel at the wealth and craftsmanship displayed around him. The walls were spotted with gems of every color and cut - though all flawless - and red gold had been hammered into the veins lacing the stone ceilings, walls, and floor. Pearls and silver provided accents. Occasionally, they passed a screen partition carved entirely of jade.

The temple was devoid of cloth decorations. In their absence, the dwarves had carved a profusion of statues, many depicting monsters and deities locked in epic battles.

After climbing several floors, they passed through a copper door waxy with verdigris and embossed with intricate, patterned knots into a bare room floored with wood. Armor hung thickly on the walls, along with racks of staff-swords identical to the one Angela had fought with in Farthen Dûr.

Gannel was there, sparring with three younger dwarves. The clan chief's robe was rucked up over his thighs so he could move freely, his face a fierce scowl as the wood shaft spun in his hands, unsharpened blades darting like riled hornets.

Two dwarves lunged at Gannel, only to be stymied in a clatter of wood and metal as he spun past them, rapping their knees and heads and sending them to the floor. Eragon grinned as he watched Gannel disarm his last opponent in a brilliant flurry of blows.

At last the clan chief noticed Eragon and dismissed the other dwarves. As Gannel set his weapon on a rack, Eragon said, "Are all Quan so proficient with the blade? It seems an odd skill for priests."

Gannel faced him. "We must be able to defend ourselves, no? Many enemies stalk this land."

Eragon nodded. "Those are unique swords. I've never seen their like, except for one an herbalist used in the battle of Farthen Dûr."

The dwarf sucked in his breath, then let it hiss out between his teeth. "Angela." His expression soured. "She won her staff from a priest in a game of riddles. It was a nasty trick, as we are the only ones allowed to use _hûthvírn_. She and Arya..." He shrugged and went to a small table, where he filled two mugs with ale. Handing one to Eragon, he said, "I invited you here today at Hrothgar's request. He told me that if you accepted his offer to become Ingeitum, I was to acquaint you with dwarf traditions."

Eragon sipped the ale and kept silent, eyeing how Gannel's thick brow caught the light, shadows dripping down his cheeks from the bony ridge. The clan chief continued: "Never before has an outsider been taught our secret beliefs, nor may you speak of them to human or elf. Yet without this knowledge, you cannot uphold what it means to be _knurla_. You are Ingeitum now: our blood, our flesh, our honor. You understand?"

"I do."

"Come." Keeping his ale in hand, Gannel took Eragon from the sparring room and conveyed him through five grand corridors, stopping in the archway to a dim chamber hazy with incense. Facing them, the outline of a statue standing from floor to ceiling, a faint light cast across the brooding figure face hacked with uncharacteristic crudeness from brown granite.

"Who is he?" Eragon asked, intimidated.

"Gûntera, King of the Gods. He is a warrior and a scholar, though fickle in his moods, so we burn offerings to assure his affection at the solstices, before sowing, and at deaths and births." Gannel twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed to the statue. "It is to him we pray before battles, for he molded this land from the bones of a giant and gives the world its order. All realms are Gûntera's."

Then Gannel instructed Eragon how to properly venerate the god, explaining the signs and words that were used for homage. He elucidated the meaning of the incense - how it symbolized life and happiness - and spent long minutes recounting legends about Gûntera, how the god was born fully formed to a she-wolf at the dawn of stars, how he had battled monsters and giants to win a place for his kin in Alagaësia, and how he had taken Kílf, the goddess of rivers and the sea, as his mate.

Next they went to Kílf's statue, which was carved with exquisite delicacy out of pale blue stone. Her hair flew back in liquid ripples, rolling down her neck and framing merry amethyst eyes. In her hands, she cupped a water lily and a chunk of porous red rock that Eragon did not recognize.

"What is that?" he asked, pointing.

"Coral taken from deep within the sea that borders the Beors."

"Coral?"

Gannel took a draught of ale, then said, "Our divers found it while searching for pearls. It seems that, in brine, certain stones grow like plants."

Eragon stared with wonder. He had never thought of pebbles or boulders as alive, yet here was proof that all they needed was water and salt to flourish. It finally explained how rocks had continued to appear in their fields in Palancar Valley, even after the soil had been combed clean each spring. _They grew!_

They proceeded to Urûr, master of the air and heavens, and his brother Morgothal, god of fire. At the carmine statue of Morgothal, the priest told how the brothers loved each other so much, neither could exist independently. Thus, Morgothal's burning palace in the sky during the day, and the sparks from his forge that appeared overhead every night. And also thus, how Urûr constantly fed his sibling so he would not die.

Only two more gods were left after that: Sindri - mother of the earth - and Helzvog.

Helzvog's statue was different from the rest. The god was bowed in half over a dwarf-sized lump of gray flint, caressing it with the tip of his forefinger. The muscles of his back bunched and knotted with inhuman strain, yet his expression was incredibly tender, as if a newborn child lay before him.

Gannel's voice dropped to a low rasp: "Gûntera may be King of the Gods, but it is Helzvog who holds our hearts. It was he who felt that the land should be peopled after the giants were vanquished. The other gods disagreed, but Helzvog ignored them and, in secret, formed the first dwarf from the roots of a mountain.

"When his deed was discovered, jealousy swept the gods and Gûntera created elves to control Alagaësia for himself. Then Sindri brought forth humans from the soil, and Urûr and Morgothal combined their knowledge and released dragons into the land. Only Kílf restrained herself. So the first races entered this world."

Eragon absorbed Gannel's words, accepting the clan chief's sincerity but unable to quell a simple question: _How does he know?_ Eragon sensed that it would be an awkward query, however, and merely nodded as he listened.

"This," said Gannel, finishing the last of his ale, "leads to our most important rite, which I know Orik has discussed with you... All dwarves must be buried in stone, else our spirits will never join Helzvog in his hall. We are not of earth, air, or fire, but of stone. And as Ingeitum, it is your responsibility to assure a proper resting place for any dwarf who may die in your company. If you fail - in the absence of injury or enemies - Hrothgar will exile you, and no dwarf will acknowledge your presence until after your death." He straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Eragon. "You have much more to learn, yet uphold the customs I outlined today and you will do well."

"I won't forget," said Eragon. Satisfied, Gannel led him away from the statues and up a winding staircase. As they climbed, the clan chief dipped a hand into his robe and withdrew a simple necklace, a chain threaded through the pommel of a miniature silver hammer. He gave it to Eragon.

"This is another favor Hrothgar asked of me," Gannel explained. "He worries that Galbatorix may have gleaned an image of you from the minds of Durza, the Ra'zac, or any number of soldiers who saw you throughout the Empire."

"Why should I fear that?"

"Because then Galbatorix could scry you. Perhaps he already has."

A shiver of apprehension wormed down Eragon's side, like an icy snake. _I should have thought of that_ , he berated himself.

"The necklace will prevent anyone from scrying you or your dragon, as long as you wear it. I placed the spell myself, so it should hold before even the strongest mind. But be forewarned, when activated, the necklace will draw upon your strength until you either take it off or the danger has passed."

"What if I'm asleep? Could the necklace consume all my energy before I was aware of it?"

"Nay. It will wake you."

Stopping at a door, Gannel ushered Eragon through to a curved gallery located directly below the cupola. The passageway banded Celbedeil, providing a view through the open archways of the mountains behind Tarnag, as well as the terraced city far below.

Eragon barely glanced at the landscape, for the gallery's inner wall was covered with a single continuous painting, a gigantic narrative band that began with a depiction of the dwarves' creation under Helzvog's hand. The figures and objects stood in relief from the surface, giving the panorama a feeling of hyperrealism with its saturated, glowing colors and minute detail.

Captivated, Eragon asked, "How was this made?"

"Each scene is carved out of small plates of marble, which are fired with enamel, then fitted into a single piece."

"Wouldn't it be easier to use regular paint?"

"It would," Gannel said, "but not if we wanted it to endure centuries - millennia - without change. Enamel never fades or loses its brilliancy, unlike oil paint. This first section was carved only a decade after the discovery of Farthen Dûr, well before elves set foot on Alagaësia."

The priest took Eragon by the arm and guided him along the tableau. Each step carried them through uncounted years of history. Eragon saw how the dwarves were once nomads on a seemingly endless plain, until the land grew so hot and desolate they were forced to migrate south to the Beor Mountains. _That was how the Hadarac Desert was formed_ , he realized, amazed.

As they proceeded down the mural, heading toward the back of Celbedeil, Eragon witnessed everything from the domestication of Feldûnost, to the carving of Isidar Mithrim, the first meeting between dwarves and elves, and the coronation of each new dwarf king. Dragons frequently appeared, burning and slaughtering. Eragon had difficulty restraining comment during those sections.

His steps slowed as the painting shifted to the event he had hoped to find: the war between elves and dragons. Here the dwarves had devoted a vast amount of space to the destruction wreaked upon Alagaësia by the two races. Eragon shuddered with horror at the sight of elves and dragons killing each other. The battles continued for yards, each image more bloody than the last, until the darkness lifted and a young elf was shown kneeling on the edge of a cliff, holding a white dragon egg. "Is that... ?" Eragon whispered.

"Aye, that's Eragon, the First Rider. It's a good likeness too, as he agreed to sit for our artisans."

Drawn forward by his fascination, Eragon studied the face of his namesake. _I always imagined him older._ The elf had angled eyes that peered down a hooked nose and narrow chin, giving him a fierce appearance. It was an alien face, completely different from his own... and yet the set of his shoulders, high and tense, reminded Eragon of how he had felt upon finding Saphira's egg. _We're not so different, you and I_ , he thought, touching the cool enamel. _And once my ears match yours, we shall truly be brothers through time... I wonder, would you approve of my actions?_ He knew they had made at least one identical choice; they had both kept the egg.

He heard a door open and close and turned to see Arya approaching from the far end of the gallery. She scanned the wall with the same blank expression Eragon had seen her use when confronting the Council of Elders. Whatever her specific emotions, he sensed that she found the situation distasteful. Arya inclined her head. "Grimstborith."

"Arya."

"You have been educating Eragon in your mythology?"

Gannel smiled flatly. "One should always understand the faith of the society that one belongs to."

"Yet comprehension does not imply belief." She fingered the pillar of an archway. "Nor does it mean that those who purvey such beliefs do so for more than... material gain."

"You would deny the sacrifices my clan makes to bring comfort to our brethren?"

"I deny nothing, only ask what good might be accomplished if your wealth were spread among the needy, the starving, the homeless, or even to buy supplies for the Varden. Instead, you've piled it into a monument to your own wishful thinking."

"Enough!" The dwarf clenched his fists, his face mottled. "Without us, the crops would wither in drought. Rivers and lakes would flood. Our flocks would-"

A shadow fell over them, broken only by four glowing needle-thin spots. Eragon smiled weakly; it was Kiphoris. And Ikharos, too. The Shadeslayer stepped around the Eliksni Captain, studying the wall with broad fascination. "Is this your history?"

Gannel nodded quickly, smiling thinly. "It is, indeed." He shot Arya an irritated look. "From our creation to the present."

Ikharos stilled before the image of the war between elves and dragons. Then, slowly, he turned to face Gannel and said, "My name is Gvîsthrun."

Eragon frowned and was about to ask if he heard correctly, but then he caught a glance of the priest. Gannel paled considerably. His mouth fell open in an 'O' of surprise. He uttered no word as he fell to his knees. Not a sound came from him.

Eragon didn't dare speak. Something was happening, but he didn't know what. All he knew was that it was important. Arya must have shared the same sentiment, for she kept her silence as well. She only watched, like he.

"Oh psekisk," Ikharos muttered. He frowned. "I've broken him."

Kiphoris swatted his arm. "You fool."

"What?" Ikharos turned on him, his voice coloured with exasperation. "Don't tell me this is my fault! How was I to know it breaks minds?"

Eragon inhaled quickly. He looked at Gannel worriedly. _Breaks minds?!_

"You..." The priest whispered. "You... are here!"

Kiphoris and Ikharos dropped their budding argument. "Yeah," the latter said. His eyes briefly met Eragon's. They were not filled with malice, but sincere confusion. "Did I say it wrong? I'm supposed to say my name. And that my name is, apparently, Gvîsthrun."

"You!" Gannel surged upwards and grabbed Ikharos' hand. The Shadeslayer stiffened, and his free hand shot to an ivory object attached to his waist. Beside him, Kiphoris growled warningly, but it was wasted on deaf ears.

Another pair of priests, armed with weapons, had appeared at the other end of the gallery. They peered at Ikharos suspiciously.

"He is Gvîsthrun!" Gannel called to them.

The priests dropped their weapons and knelt reverently.

Gannel tugged Ikharos forward, but the wizard didn't budge. "Come, noble Gvîsthrun!" The priest urged him. "We must present to you your birthright!" Ikharos allowed himself to be dragged on. Kiphoris followed close behind. "No!" Gannel's face changed from one of sheer bliss to affronted anger. "Outsiders cannot-"

"He's with me," Ikharos interjected. Gannel bowed his head and offered not further resistance. The wizard and Captain were guided down the gallery at startling speed. Arya followed some ways behind. Eragon almost called her out, but curiosity had overridden his concern, so he did the same.

Gannel led them down a winding staircase to a chamber located beneath the temple. The huge smooth metal doors were barred and four priests stood guard, but a mention of that word, "Gvîsthrun", had them scurrying out of the way. Gannel and his clansmen strained to unlock and push the door open, but they managed it in the end. The room beyond was cast in darkness. A dwarf was sent to fetch lanterns and returned moments later.

Ikharos hadn't waited. He lifted a hand full of bright, crackling flames and went right in, Kiphoris with him. Gannel trailed behind, head lowered. Eragon heard the clan chief muttering prayers.

 _What is happening?_ He thought worriedly. Arya, stern-faced, went after the wizard with a lantern in hand. Eragon opted to go with her.

The inside was unlike anything he'd ever seen. The walls, ceiling, and floor were of bare steel, but forged and fitted with such skill that he could not find a fault in any of the surfaces. The room was wide and tall enough that Saphira could have stood within at full height, stretched out her wings, and still have room. It was, however, completely empty. Nothing waited within besides dust and cobwebs.

The chamber ended at a massive chasm. Eragon could only scarcely make out the other side, where more metal floor continued onwards into darkness. Below, the abyss went on and on forever with no bottom in sight. The total silence of the place was chilling. Eragon felt out of place. He was treading somewhere mortals were not supposed to go.

A walkway extended a few metres out over the chasm. It too was made of steel. When Ikharos approached it, the walkway began to crackle with static, much like an Eliksni blade. Lightning, bright and quick, fizzled along the walkway.

Ikharos turned about. "What is this place?!" He demanded, barely audibly over the roar of electricity.

Gannel prostrated himself before the wizard. "The Forge of Helzvog!"

Kiphoris pulled something from his bandolier and tossed it across the chasm. Lightning suddenly raced from the walkway and destroyed it in a pulse of blinding light.

"Barrier!" The Eliksni called out. He sent Ikharos a pointed look. "Can you cross?!"

"Maybe!" Ikharos boldly stepped onto the thin walkway and strolled to the end. Lightning pulsed and ran up his legs, but he didn't outwardly react. Eragon watched, disbelieving; the man had to be in immense pain.

Ikharos reached the end, where the lightning was most powerful. His entire body was alight with static. He looked across, raised his hands... and he was gone. The lightning destroyed him. An electrified cloud lifted from where he had been standing.

Eragon gasped. The Shadeslayer was annihilated. Nothing remained of him.

Then, inexplicably, the energy within the walkway shattered and dissipated. The lightning arced from the conductive metal and reached to the other side of the chasm. It stopped in midair, filling the air with roaring static, and gave shape to the form of a man. The being was soon materialized in flesh, cloth, and metal.

It was Ikharos. His very form pulsed with bluish-white power.

The air stilled. The sound of the condensed storm faded away. The burning smell remained, but it lessened in strength. Eragon gawked at the wizard on the other side. _How is he alive?!_

Ikharos walked on, heedless of the shock he'd instilled in everyone present. He disappeared into the darkness waiting beyond and left Eragon's sight altogether.

**000**

The mass influx of Arc energy was rejuvenating. Ikharos' exhaustion faded away as the lightning imbued him with recharged Light.

"I'm saying it now," he muttered, "this is a Stormcaller's laboratory."

" _Probably_ ," Xiān agreed. " _Let's just hope this doesn't turn out like the tomb._ "

The second half of the Forge was more rewarding than the first. Ikharos reckoned the place they'd left behind was just the welcoming mat. And the Arc barrier was the front door, locked up tight to keep out the woodland pests. What he found filled him with confidence and a hunger for learning: storage lockers, crates, terminals, bookshelves, a glass dome casing with a shard of black metal within, a broken 55-30 janitorial Frame, and a clean desk upon which rested a single lonely datapad.

"You know the drill."

Xiān grumbled, phased into existence, and powered the long-dead datapad up. "Have at it," she said.

* * *

_Day 753: The war will result in a definitive loss for the Strife Cult. Despite the ontological nature of the Wish-Wyrms, their infected status seemingly nullifies, or at least hampers, their offensive capabilities. We have been dismantling the Cult's forces with startling efficiency. The single-minded drive and resilience of our Labourer allies has allowed us to shake off whatever ploys the Wish-Wyrms have set and slay them in scores. Considering our current progress, I estimate the conflict will end within three native stellar years._

_Dutifully,  
Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 772: Gunther found the Origin Vector. Alone. He proceeded to engage it in combat, against my clear instructions. I should reprimand him, but I'm just glad he's alive. My running hypothesis was that the Origin Vector infects through close proximity, but biological scans and spectral analysis of Gunther prove that to be false. I must exchange notes with AI/COM/SCIPIO. He may have the answers I seek._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 773: Revised hypothesis remains much the same, but [O] energy is incompatible with type(i)-infection. [O] energy is Light. More specifically, the Light of the Traveler. Type(i)-infection is an opposing force to Light. The nature of the infection is not to warp Light, but to destroy it. They are incompatible on a base level._

_I theorize that this may be the objective of the Strife Cult. They unwittingly follow the nature of type(i)-infection in attempting to destroy all objects bearing the mark of [O] energy._

_Our Light is an immune system. Gunther is uninfected. This is good news. We may be able to destroy the Strife Cult more quickly than I envisioned._

_Unfortunately, Origin Vector escaped Gunther. But he brought me something. He says he took a notch out of Origin Vector's primary weapon - a spear of all things. The resulting shard possesses numerous unconventional properties. I cannot identify the material. It's not on the periodic table, leading me to assume metaphysical properties are inherent in its construction. I will begin spectral analysis immediately._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 775: The shard - which will be henceforth referred to as Artefact-OV1S - is intrinsically linked to a variety of type(i)-infection with incredible potential. It exudes a force capable of causing the slowing or even a complete cessation of movement on a microscopic and atomic level. In short: it exudes control over the passing of time. I now firmly believe that Origin Vector's weapon is the cause for the temporal anomaly encapsulating Kepler-186f._

_We always drew a connection between the anomaly and the Strife Cult, considering it only commenced upon their arrival, but this exceeds my expectations. And it bodes poorly for our efforts._

_We are not winning the war. They are merely biding their time. I won't let this happen. I shall inform my compatriots immediately. We will break them._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 791: Calamity struck, but we have prepared accordingly for such an occurrence._

_The Labourers, our ever helpful assistants, have been supportive in our war against the Strife Cult. The Harmony have given up their claim on the Labourers - not that they had much left. I suspect they are attempting to save face and please us. It will not work. Regardless, we cannot commit to brash action where the Harmony are concerned. They still retain control over the Warriors and the Enhancers, whom we still need. Neither can we underestimate their alliance with Scipio. The Warmind remains the most powerful force on the planet, despite his causal limitations. He is the god to which we all offer our prayers._

_Back to the immediate topic. Calamity struck. Three Labourers, soldiers on the forefront of our territory, were subjected to type(i)-infection. Considering Origin Vector was last seen to the south of our current position, we assume this to be the work of Vector Two - designation: Ezyrax. She has thus far escaped capture and evaded engagement._

_We were fortunate in that Uren and Kelf were nearby to apprehend the infected Labourers before they could cause further harm. Fifteen Labourer lives were lost and many more severely injured. The infected have been given over to me for study. Kelf's staying. I suspect Gunther wants to know how to kill these entities, should further infected present a new threat._

_I love him. He gives me all the best toys._

_My first examinations were overly hasty, but I have learned much. Type(i)-infection results in a change of pigment of the skin, irises, and hair of victims. Skin turns pale as to resemble a recently-deceased corpse, hair turns the exact pigment of blood correlating to that of homo sapien sapiens, and eyes go a slightly different shade of red. Hair samples reveal traces of haemoglobin. Irises convert to a similar shade, though this is a result of a lack of pigmentation, allowing the colour of red blood cells within, causing the red appearance. The cause behind the skin pigment is beyond my understanding._

_I have decided to go forth with the dissection of an infected individual. I have three of them; what does it matter if one dies prematurely? I placed II-1 on the laboratory table and began immediately. I did not administer anesthesia, as I wished to see how resilient these infected truly are._

_Note: II-1 was formerly a Labourer male, approximately thirty-seven years of age._

_My first cuts resulted in a spill of both blood that is identical to that of Labourers and a gaseous substance that I have identified as the material form of type(i)-infection. It is, however, harmless to even the most causal of beings. Its malevolent charge has been used up on the infected individual._

_Imagine my surprise when the wounds I inflicted rapidly recovered at an inhuman rate. This has excited me. In a fit of unprofessional giddiness, I tested II-1's capacity for healing and, in the heat of the moment, I prematurely killed him by causing irreparable damage to the cervical spine. II-1 instantaneously disintegrated by means unknown._

_Seven minutes and thirty-three seconds later, my ever-vigilant assistants warned me of II-1's resurrection and materialization in the neighbouring chamber. II-1 attempted to inflict further casualties, but Kelf disabled and apprehended him. I suspect she is not pleased. Her words to me when returning the creature were not kind._

_In efforts to discontinue such troublesome events, my Ghost and I set in place an Arc barrier around my laboratory. I have instructed my assistants to leave for fear of their safety should my infected attempt to escape once more. If they do come back, then they won't be able to leave. My barrier will shock them into unconsciousness. The only way to disable it would be to destroy me. And if that is their aim, I will be ready for them._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 792: My first discovery: the initial consciousness of the infected Labourer was destroyed upon contracting the type(i)-infection. The current entity, whose sole aim appears to be the killing of other sentient organisms, is not that Labourer. It is type(i)-infection given the capacity to think. If it can be considered thinking. They are cunning creatures, that I will admit, but their cunning is short-sighted._

_My second discovery: destruction of the heart, either through impalement or crushing, results in complete and total death of the infected individual. I have attempted this on both II-1 and II-2 with resounding success. Gunther will be pleased to know that these mockeries can be destroyed._

_I suspect that the similar capabilities of these entities to our kind is not coincidence. I theorize that something, perhaps even Origin Vector, sought to imitate us._

_II-3 is just like her brethren. Stronger and faster than the average Labourer and capable of self-resurrection. I believe I have learned all I could. As much as I desire the ability to test infected individuals whenever the thought strikes me, Kelf has reminded me of the security risk. Thus I shall terminate II-3 too._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 814: The Harmony have reached out to us. While they still refuse to allow us command over the Warriors and Enhancers, they have allowed us use of their Bishops. These Wish-Wyrms are yet uninfected. Sindral has spoken out against their presence within our militia, but I have devised an initiation programme that should single out any who may hide their infected status. I have also prepared a tutorial for my fellows and the Labourers on avoiding the bite of these Bishops. We will see how effective this proves._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 815: Success, once again. The Wish-Wyrms are ours. They will prove a significant advantage in our war with the Strife Cult. Our opposition uses their Wyrms only for their physical abilities. We will do better - we will take advantage of the paracausal potential these Bishops promise when the situation demands it._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 817: An infected Wyrm was exposed. It was quickly terminated by both Morgan and another Wyrm named Merenos. Immediately after, we cleared Merenos. He was not infected. He has since refused to leave Morgan's side. My erstwhile friend does not mind; I think he enjoys having a pet Bishop._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 834: The war progresses. Origin Vector is finally committing to fully-fledged battles. We have taken the lead in the war, but my comrades and I are forced to spread out to defend our territory. I do not like this. The Labourers have split their forces to accommodate this. I have taken sanctuary in my old laboratory. It is a good place to fight._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 837: Morgan and Uren need my help. They are almost overrun._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 838: Morgan is dead. My friend is dead. I am going to kill them all._

_Day 839: The Harmony are in retreat. The Strife Cult has them scurrying back to Scipio's protection._

_Day 841: The storm has agreed to support us. I will hold them to their word._

_Day 844: I own the skies. The storm and I have combined our might. Dead Wyrms fall from the sky like rain droplets. It is beautiful. It is not enough. The Strife Cult must suffer._

_Day 871: Kelf and Gunther have taken sanctuary within the southron mountains. The war has turned. Military Exos hunt us in the night. We have to send away our Labourer allies for fear that they might be infected and turned against us._

_Day 873: Gunther is dead. Origin Vector ripped through the mountain to reach him. Kelf is beside herself with anger. She's hurting. There is a reason our kind should avoid relationships of a romantic nature._

_Day 875: Uren is up north. He's tracking Vector Two. He told us with a coded message. I think he is going to die. I cannot lose another friend._

_We don't know where Sindral is._

_Day 890: Sindral was with Scipio and the Harmony. The latter are almost entirely gone. Scipio is diminished. He's enacting last-ditch defensive protocols. The colonists have been released, but most of them are dead now._

_Sindral's going west with the Enhancers and Warriors and the treasures of the Exodus Prime. Humanity will survive. It must._

_Day 896: I'm here again. My old laboratory. I still have the Artefact-OV1S. I cannot allow the Strife Cult to reclaim it. I suspect it may be the key to our victory. To salvation from this terrible mess. I will leave it here, along with all my personal effects. Kelf and I are planning to go north. We need to find Uren._

_This may be my last entry. The Wyrms tell me that the war will not be so simply lost. I hope they're right, yet I can't find it in myself to believe them. I have discussed contingency plans with them, but all they tell me is to wait._

_I cannot wait. I must go. I am certain it will mean my death. This is not what I wanted, but I see no other choice. We came here to escape the four-armed beasts and our own kind at home and locate the peace our ancestors held dear, but war found us regardless. We came as refugees and became soldiers. This was not what we wanted._

_I miss home._

_Dutifully,  
_ _Hezran-4, Monochromatic Initiate #112_

_Day 2,347,639: To the far north, where little life prevails, is the fortress of Albazad. She is there. Ezyrax, Consort of Nezarec. She is his physical representative in the material plane. Her glaive is stained with this world's blood._

_Hezran is gone._

_Kelf is compromised._

_Sindral is lost._

_I have attached to this a copy of the Strife Cult's scripture, translated and uploaded. This is who we fight. This is who we must defeat._

_In the heart of the Enhancer forest I have buried a material cache. Either I will reclaim it or another, one capable of making it through Hezran's lingering Light, will._

_I put my trust in Dr Halleen. She will know what to do. If you oppose the Cult, trust her._

_Dutifully,  
_ _U._

_( Warning: Contents may contain sensitive information)_

_( Access: Granted)_

**_Sing of Horror._ **

_Sing, o Harmonic kin mine, of the great war we waged against that-we-could-not-emulate, could not understand, could not treat with under terms of peace in any manner. Sing of their violent refusals of our offerings, the beautiful incantras encased in sleek formless diamonds they scoffed so derisively at. Sing of the dragons who roared and bellowed with rage, the grand bishops of the beautiful Wish, who died in chitin-barred cells, food for Worms._

**_Sing of Sorrow._ **

_Sing, o Melodious egg-mates mine, of the friends we lost atop the great Flotilla, those captured by cold metal or terrible claws. Sing of how they sought to defend our Gift-Mast, working alongside the polar jets upon which we lanced many a Witch. Sing of their failure to hold back the great waves from Deep. Sing of the doomed legacy left by a cruel god who damned us to this fate, who abandoned us to hold firm in the face of an unstoppable tide. All will crash upon the rocks that are their swords, he said to we._

**_Sing of Loss._ **

_Sing, o Haunting choir mine, of Ana-Harmony, lost to those converted to the wills of the invaders, to the victors who see what path MUST be walked. Sing of those who joined me in leaking canoes across the whirlpool of war, we who paddled to the edge as submarines and battleships swirled and traded blows all around us. Sing of the great golden admiral, an Emperor who drinks from a star-wrought goblet, who pointed to us the way forward._

_"Go, my directionless friends!" He bade us in his chuckling voice. "Find the end-of-all-things and grow fat upon truth!"_

**_Sing of Pain._ **

_Sing, o Faithful family mine, to our salvation. Sing of me as you pass into the Black Edge. Sing as your skin of silvered steel becomes my spear, my harpoon by which I will lead this orchestra of agony. Sing as my horns grow and my body strengthens. Sing as the reality upon which we crawl, we displaced songbirds of the Garden, is revealed to my sight. Sing as your suffering becomes your salvation._

**_Sing of Sacrifice._ **

_Sing, o Neophytes mine, of me as your very beings are torn asunder. Sing of Nezarec, hated by all, cherished by none, tasked with the Silencing of Song. The Deep demands it. The King demands it. The War demands it. The Witch demands it. I must carry out this noble purpose and bring this din of mismatched noise to an end._

* * *

Ikharos put the datapad down and stared at it for a solid minute. His thoughts were in disarray. Whatever faint glimmer of hope he'd held onto was gone.

"Damn," he said eventually, voice blank with numb realization. He said it again, if only because he didn't have anything else to say. "Damn."

**000**

Tarrhis awoke with a snarl on his tongue, but he kept it at bay upon seeing Raksil's visage. He reached out and grasped his son's shoulder gently. "What is it?"

"Etiiris has cracked them open!" Raksil blurted.

It took Tarrhis a moment to understand what was being said. He pushed away from the tree he had been resting against and blinked rapidly at the glare of the evening light. "He has?"

" _Eia_ , father. He is prepared to open them on your word."

Tarrhis chuckled darkly. "Then I bid him to do so. These cowardly metal-kin will hold no sanctuary from us. Not even their minds will be safe. Bring me to him."

Raksil led him through the temporary camp to where the Splicers had set up their makeshift workshop. He encountered his Captains on the way. Sundrass was quiet, but Palkra was full of smiles and laughs. He was excited. The Pikeman looked forward to his next posting. He was a creature who desired nothing more than the freedom to ride, and leaving Tarrhis' shadow would allow him to do just that. Tarrhis knew all about his subordinate's urgings, but he did not care. It was not his responsibility anymore. This was Kiphoris' ploy. And if the Dreamer had planned poorly, it would mean his arms.

"Come with me," Tarrhis ordered of them. They arrived at the workshop, where Etiiris beamed up at Tarrhis. The splicer held up one of the metal discs up high.

"Mine-Baron!" He cried. "I have done it!"

"Show me their secrets," Tarrhis ordered. "Show me their knowledge."

Etiiris beckoned forth a Sentry Servitor. The automaton opened up a side panel and allowed the Splicer to insert the disc into a dataport. Then, they waited.

The Servitor cast a hologram before it. It was weak and distorted, but the shapes of more mechanical humans were clear to see. They spoke in the human tongue. Tarrhis gritted his fangs; they would need to either contact Kiphoris for a translation or make use of the glossator technology he'd left behind. Both would take time.

"Ah," Etiiris' smile fell. "Their secrets will have to wait a little longer. My apologies, _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_. I had presumed that-"

The purple Void glow of the Servitor's eye inexplicably turned red. The hologram deactivated as it swiveled about, and Tarrhis had no time to shout a warning before it blasted a pulse of energy. Etiiris was destroyed, left as little more than ash and smoking exoskeleton.

With a roar, Tarrhis drew his polished blade and ran the deranged machine through. The Servitor let out a shrill digital scream as it died, and the red glow in its eye faded away. It slammed onto the forest floor with a resounding bang.

The shocked silence was soon broken by panicked chatter.

"CEASE!" Sundrass bellowed. Quiet flooded back in. "Stall all efforts! Those discs are cursed!"

Tarrhis stared at the downed Servitor. A cold feeling snuck into his heart. It was a trap. The assassins had laid traps in their minds.

"Father?" Raksil asked worriedly.

With a shudder, Tarrhis shoved the Servitor off his sword and faced his people. "Discontinue any and all attempts to break their minds. They are too dangerous." His voice was slow with shock and hoarse with underlying exhaustion. "Gather Etiiris' remains. Alert Drotos. Burn the Servitor."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
> 
> Damn, this one was really fun to write. Finally had the chance to put to words what I envisioned. It feels good.
> 
> Loving Beyond Light. The story and lore pieces have that emphasis on both Golden Age stuff and Eliksni both, all of which I adore.
> 
> Oh, and uh, RIP Sagira.


	42. Wolf and Scar

Kiphoris refused to answer the questions posed to him by the dwarves and Eragon as they awaited Ikharos's return. Half of them were just plain ridiculous.

"Are you one of his disciples?"

"Might you share his teachings with us, we his faithful?"

"Is he a god?"

"Are your people his creation?"

And the rest he couldn't answer.

"How did he do that?"

"Can it be taught?"

"Will he come back?"

Ikharos did indeed reappear. He glided across the gap and passed a datapad over to Kiphoris, which he set about reading immediately. The Lightbearer crossed his arms and weathered the same flood of curiosity Kiphoris had struggled against. The dwarves were sharp little creatures, but terribly misguided.

"I'm not a god," Ikharos said irritably. The dwarves fell silent. "Traveler above, where the hell is that coming from? I'm Risen, not some form of divinity."

"But... but you are Gvîsthrun!" Gannel proclaimed

Ikharos frowned. "I was told to say that. Dammit, I didn't expect it to come with this much baggage."

The dwarves mulled it over. Finally, Gannel decided with a firm nod, "Then we have misinterpreted the signs. Our highest apologies, noble Gvîsthrun. You have yet to rise. But you are not without support! Dûrgrimst Quan and all _knurlagn_ are with you! We will provide you with the means to attain your rightful place alongside the gods! "

"Oh for fu-"

Kiphoris stepped close and asked, in a hushed voice, "You have this artefact?"

"I do." Ikharos pursed his lips distastefully.

"Then we leave."

"Agreed." Ikharos knelt and raised his voice. "Where'd you hear that anyway? Gvîsthrun?"

"It is Kílf's prophecy! She foretold your arrival!"

The Lightbearer hesitated, "Well... thank you, clan chief Gannel, for permitting my entry into your temple and guiding me here. You have allowed me to reclaim what once belonged to my kind. With any luck, it might help us all in the long run. For that you have my gratitude. But stop calling me a god."

Gannel bowed so low his head almost touched the steel floor. "It is my greatest honour, o great Gvîsthrun. May the blessings of Gûntera be upon you. You are always welcome amongst the Dûrgrimst Quan."

* * *

They were flanked by an escort of dwarven warriors the moment they left the temple's entrance. A silent Arya and awestruck Eragon trailed behind them. Ikharos wore a stony expression, neither pleased or upset with what they had learned. The new discovery nagged at Kiphoris's mind. He could not help but feel they were dealing with forces beyond their ability to control.

"How did you do that?" Eragon asked breathlessly.

Ikharos shrugged. He frowned, his troubled gaze still trained on his new datapad. "Just what I do. Ask me later."

Kiphoris perked up. A new, faint scent had him looking in all directions for the source, body hunched over and blades half-drawn. "I smell smoke," he said. Alarm seeped into his voice.

Ikharos tensed beside him. "Think it's an attack?"

Arya cleared her throat. She had a peculiarly mistrustful expression reserved solely for the Lightbearer. "Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed Tarnag's citizens against us. Ûndin believes, as I do, that it would be best for us to shelter behind his walls until we leave."

Civil unrest. Kiphoris pressed his mandibles against his jaw. Riots were the worst thing that could ever trouble a society. They had minds of their own. Dangerously cunning and highly unpredictable. They were difficult to put down - if they could be put down at all. "I agree. We must return as soon as we can."

Ikharos met his eyes and nodded. "Right. Let's be quick. We don't want to get caught out in the streets."

Surrounded by a dozen dwarven warriors, along with Melkris, they trotted through the city. Kiphoris could hear the distant shouts and roars of a mob far beyond, closer to the city's forefront than the temple. A smoke stack gradually climbed up into the sky on the other side of Tarnag. Fortune was smiling upon them.

Once behind the walls of the keep, Ikharos ran inside to change into his armour. Kiphoris ordered both Javek and Melkris to arm themselves. Obleker and Formora were present too, already prepared. The latter stood with a still, tense stance reminiscent of a predator about to strike.

"I would rather we flee than fight," Kiphoris softly advised. "I do not wish to endanger innocent lives _or_ my alliance with _Hrothgar-kel_."

"I understand," she replied sharply, "but I will do what I can to safeguard Eragon and Saphira."

"Why do you put your life at risk for them?"

"You do as well."

"That was not mine-question."

She met his gaze. The shiny, shaded visor reflected the glow of his eyes back onto him. "They are the future of the past I left behind. I won't let them fall."

Satisfied, Kiphoris moved back to the gate, where Ikharos waited. The Lightbearer was dressed in his combat robes and had his sword in hand. He studied the reflection of his Aphelion-scar on the flat of the silvered blade.

"This is too messy," Kiphoris grunted. He didn't like the look of the wooden gates. They were too flimsy. The Az Sweldn rak Anhûin wouldn't even need explosives or siege weapons to breach it; all they needed was to arm the mob with hatchets.

"A person is a complex being capable of reason," Ikharos began, "but people are wild, panicky animals." He felt around the bright blue marks left by the Star-Eater's claws. Kiphoris didn't envy him. "Still, we just have to wait until they get hungry."

"Hungry?"

"You and I both know that there's no drive quite like starvation. Neither of us are hungry now, right? But if we were we'd go out of our way to sate that urge. So will the dwarves. They're not exempt from that rule. It's a universal instinct. And when they do, their herd mentality will begin to fade. Reason will set back in. All we have to do is wait until dinnertime rolls around."

Kiphoris crouched down. He closed his outer eyes. "That is a mundane ending to all this excitement."

"Life can't be exciting all the time. There's got to be room for us to have a breather. Some people have nothing but breathers." Ikharos leaned back and looked up at the cloudless sky. "Lucky bastards."

"Lucky _psesiskars_ ," Kiphoris agreed. Something flitted by on the edge of his vision. Not a moment later, a weight settled on his shoulder. Ikharos scowled.

"I could bring peace to the city," Arke promised in her velvet-smooth voice, lowered to a hazy whisper. "If only you wish it."

"Quiet," Kiphoris growled. He stood up and looked her over. She was in the form of a majestic Earthen eagle, clad in tan feathers and bearing of a hooked golden beak tipped black. Her yellow eyes sparkled with that vast dangerous intelligence he was beginning to grow familiar with. She was twice her crow size and many times the weight. Her talons curled around his pauldron and gripped tight. She was a beautiful bird, but Kiphoris knew a nightmarish monster waited beneath the feathers for the moment he slipped up.

"You have fed," he noted.

Arke lowered her head in the impression of a nod.

"What of your crow?"

Kiphoris turned around. Arya stared at Arke. She wore a troubled look.

"Either it grew," Ikharos muttered in a not-so-serious manner, "or this thing ate it and inherited its loyalties."

Kiphoris silenced him with a warning glare. He turned back to Arya and said, "We will elaborate. But not here."

She looked at him dubiously. Her eyes briefly darted to Ikharos. "There is much that needs to be explained."

"Not. Here." Kiphoris repeated. He narrowed his eyes. "You will be told, you have mine-word. But not where information might reach those who would use it for their own gains."

"So be it," Arya said. She walked away, arms crossed and eyes hard.

Ikharos snorted. "Well, now we're in trouble."

"Oh?"

"You tell her, she'll tell her people."

Kiphoris nodded grimly. "Perhaps the truth will help them understand our plight."

"Maybe. Or they might try to take advantage of us. We need the elves' help. Doesn't mean we should trust them from the get-go."

"Trust can make the most unlikely allies."

"Like us? We're able to work together because we're honest. Remember what Mora said. The elves are proud and judgemental. They probably won't like us showing them up."

"It is the same for mine- Eliksni."

"Proud? Yeah. But you aren't judgemental. Your kind are practical. It's your openness that led to this alliance in the first place."

"Openness? _Nama_. It felt to me like desperation. Don't you humans have a saying about that? War makes strange bedfellows?"

Ikharos smiled weakly. "That's the one. Alright, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it is desperation. But the elves aren't desperate either. Not yet. In a few months, maybe, but by then it might be too late."

"And you are proposing a plan?" He blinked his outer eyes. "That is my job. I am the Dreamer."

"Hah. Sure. No, I'm just being honest with you, as per our agreement. I'm willing to trust you more than I trust the elves. Because I know you. I know Eliksni. And I don't know the elves."

"You know one."

"She's an outlier. And I get along great with her, yes, but she freely admits that she's not like her kin. Look, I'm just saying we should just be prepared for anything. And careful about how we prepare."

"I hear you, _Ikha Riis_. I hear you."

* * *

The night came and went. Kiphoris spent most of it either watching that Arke did not misbehave - she didn't - or reflecting on his past experiences of the Reef with Ikharos. The Lightbearer knew more about the Awoken than Kiphoris had originally given him credit for. Formora sat nearby, idly listening in.

"You weren't an inmate of the Prison, I take it," Ikharos eventually said, just as morning threatened to spill over the valley.

Kiphoris shook his head. " _Nama_. I was of those in the Reefborn's employ. I was... too young to fight in the war, so when they took me in they saw no reason to punish me. I thought the Awoken were too kind to us. Too fair. I still do. _Skolas-kel_ would never have escaped if they were more cruel."

"If they were more cruel, you would have died in the arenas of the Prison of Elders."

"Perhaps. Do not forget that mine-bloodline is of the Silent Fang. Mine-father had taught me to fight since I shed my egg-molt. Mine-sister too. I might have survived the Prison."

"You don't talk about your sister much."

"Drevis was harsh, but before Ceres she was... good. She had a hidden kindness." Kiphoris's expression darkened. "Grief turned her monstrous. I could not stand the hateful thing she had become. To me, mine-sister had died along with all the other nobles at the Scatter. What remained was not her. Not Drevis."

"And you don't blame the Awoken for unleashing the Harbingers?"

"Some. _Mara-kel_ , _eia_ , and her confidants, but not the rest of the twin-souls. They merely followed the orders of their Kell. And I learned from them. They taught me your language, your runes, your technology, your weapons, your customs, and far more. I befriended some. Those days are ones I remember with fondness. I miss it." He exhaled shakily. "What of you? What did you think of the Reef, the home of your star-touched cousins?"

"Exotic. Strange. Stunning. Impressive. And sad. It's been a shadow of its former self since the Hive, Red Legion, and Scorn ripped through it. Nonetheless, it's capable of evoking a certain sort of awe every time I see those purple-tinted skies and bright asteroid cities."

Daylight began to slowly drift into the valley's basin. Around them, dozing dwarven warriors began to stir. Those who were up began to tie their weapons and armour up with cloth so it would not make a sound when they marched. Kiphoris stretched his arms and said, "I will scout ahead. If any ask, tell them that."

Ikharos nodded, eyes half-closed. "Will do. Take your pet?"

Kiphoris glanced over to where he thought Arke was perched, but she had already taken off to soar above the city. "Out of mine-hands, _Kirzen_. If she returns, direct her to me. Don't kill her."

"I'll try my best."

He wasn't going to get anything more binding than that. Kiphoris turned about and switched on his lightbender. His entire form distorted with reflected light for a brief moment before he was out of sight. The few dwarves who saw were startled into wakefulness and stared at the spot he'd been standing.

Kiphoris moved quickly. He scaled the keep's walls and leapt down onto the empty street beyond. There wasn't a dwarf in sight. Very soon he had left behind the city entirely and padded across the barren fields outside to the river, where a small handful of dwarves waited by three sizable rafts tied to a stone quay. Once he was sure they were of Ûndin's clan rather than Az Sweldn rak Anhûin he deactivated his cloaking generator. The only dwarf looking in his direction jumped and flailed back into the water with a splash.

The others gave a start and drew weapons, but the moment they saw him they faltered. The one in the water rose back to the surface, spluttering, and climbed back atop the quay.

Kiphoris smiled behind his rebreather. "I am no foe. You are to accompany us to Du Weldenvarden, yes?"

One of the dwarves peered at him suspiciously. "Are you... Eliksni?"

" _Eia_ , I am."

They let out relieved breaths and lowered their weapons. The speaker sighed loudly and asked, "How, in Gûntera's name, did you sneak up on us like that?"

"He just appeared!" The half-drowned dwarf exclaimed. He was wide-eyed with fright, and his jaw was clenched with anger. "Out of thin air!"

Kiphoris' only response to that was a deep chuckle. There was something about the dwarves he found endlessly amusing. They had attitudes larger than their small stature necessitated.

His associates arrived soon after. He stood to the side as the dwarves loaded supplies, and watched as Eragon guided his blindfolded horse onto one of the rafts. The animal did so reluctantly; it made its unhappiness clear with a series of snorts and swings of its head. Saphira slipped into the river and allowed herself to sink down until only her head remained above the surface. It reminded him of the tales of the fearsome _niirsai_ beasts on Riis. Predators who waited by the ether-river's edge to catch those who came to drink.

But, unlike Saphira, the _niirsai_ had been notoriously stupid beasts. His father would tell stories of how he tricked them into leaving their rivers as a youth and speared their exposed flanks. _Niirsai_ hunts sounded glorious. It was yet another tradition lost in the Whirlwind.

His attention was redirected when Ûndin approached him. The clan-chief scowled. "I am sorry, Kiphoris, that your time in my city was marred by the efforts of Az Sweldn rak Anhûin."

"It is no trouble." Kiphoris shuttered his outer pair of eyes and graciously dipped his head. "I envy you for your holdings. When I return to my people, I will bring news of your warm welcome."

The scowl turned to a smile very quickly. Ûndin nodded. "Aye. You have been a good guest. I know that some may think otherwise, but I look forward to meeting more of your kind."

"Farewell, _Ûndin-Mrelliks_." He turned about and boarded the first raft with Eragon and Orik and two dwarven guards. The second was reserved for Melkris, Kida, and Arya and another two guards. The third and final vessel supported Ikharos, Fomora, Javek, and the last three dwarves set to accompany them on their trek north. The ropes were unknotted and pushed from the quay with wooden poles. It was so very painstakingly slow, but Kiphoris forced himself to be patient.

Obleker floated over the water's edge alongside them, and Arke glided high above on wind currents. She let loose a shrill cry that echoed throughout the valley.

* * *

The hours, and the scenery, lazily swept. Kiphoris sat by the cabin in the centre of the raft and watched the passing world around them with detached interest. A part of him was irritated that they couldn't take a Skiff, but Arya had warned him that it would have been fired upon by elven magic upon arrival. Saphira wouldn't be able to follow in any case, and she was far too large for a Skiff. Even so, he could have run! The speed the dwarves set was too leisurely for the him, but the small humans didn't have enough stamina to keep pace with his warriors, so moving by water was their fastest option

Another part of him was just pleased to have, as Ikharos called it, a breather. A chance to pause and relax before war called on him again. The landscape around them was full of life and it fascinated him. He still couldn't believe that he was standing and breathing on a living world. One without the sickness of Hive or the corruption of Vex.

He wasn't lying when he said he might want to remain on Kepler. His people didn't have to wander any farther. This world had all they needed to rebuild their civilization. He dreamed of bright-eyed hatchlings laughing and running about, free of the fear and worries that their parents had carried all their lives.

" _You look pensive_ ," Saphira remarked.

Kiphoris looked over to where she swam, effortlessly cutting through the water like a Ketch through the void between stars. "I am forging fantasies of the future," he admitted.

" _What is it you envision?_ "

"Children who know a place to call home."

" _You have children?_ " Saphira sounded surprised.

Kiphoris laughed. " _Nama_. I do not. But that does not mean I will not care for mine-people's hatchlings. I know it is different with humans, but our young are to be reared by the entire crew. To be cherished by all. The custom has suffered since we ran from Riis, but we all shoulder the responsibility where we can."

" _That is a kind thing to do._ " She quietened. " _I'd like to think my race was the same._ "

Kiphoris exhaled. "Perhaps they were. Even if they weren't, it can be the custom you adopt for all dragons."

" _We dragons are gone_ ," Saphira said remorsefully. " _I am all that remains. No other flies free of Galbatorix's shackles._ "

Kiphoris leaned forward. " _Nama_. Perhaps your race suffers, but I do not think this to be the twilight of dragonkind. I promise that when this war is over, and if we both live, I will help you search for your kin."

Saphira slowed. Smoke billowed from her nostrils. " _Thank you, Kiphoris._ "

"Do not thank me yet. I have not done anything deserving of it."

" _You have. You helped us when you had no reason to. You have been a friend to Eragon and I. That is worthy of gratitude._ "

"Ah… Then you are welcome, wind-daughter. I only did as my hearts led me."

A pause followed. " _Eragon told me of what transpired within Celbedeil. How did Ikharos survive?_ "

"Magic."

" _There is no magic like that_ _._ " Saphira's right eye, the only one Kiphoris could see from where he sat, narrowed to a sickle-thin edge. " _Do we have to fear him?_ "

" _Nama_. He is an ally."

" _You believe that?_ "

"I know it. I swear it. We mean you no harm."

" _He was not glad to meet me outside Tronjheim._ "

"He does not know dragons. _Ikha Riis_ has since been educated, on that you have my word."

" _I've... noticed. He doesn't find issue with my presence now. But he is still rude._ "

"I have little authority over him, Saphira. I may be _Veskirisk_ , but I do not command him. As I know it, nothing can command his kind."

" _His kind? Is he truly not human?_ "

Kiphoris flared his mandibles. "I do not know the specifics. I only know of his people through tales. Do not fish for information with me, wind-daughter. You would find better results asking him yourself."

* * *

When afternoon arrived they stopped by the riverbanks and made camp. Eragon and Saphira left to fly. Javek practiced magic under Formora's instruction. Kiphoris found himself drawn into conversations concerning casual, unimportant topics with Ikharos and Melkris. It allowed the laid back feeling that had snuck into his bones to continue robbing him of his drive.

"I adore your people's food, _Ikha Riis_ ," Melkris said. He gazed longingly in the direction of the campfire, where the dwarf named Tríhga was preparing a pot of stew. "So much flavour! I am enjoying this too much, I think. I will never be able to return to meager ether rations after this."

"If you stay," Ikharos replied, "then you'd be free to outfit those rations with the bounty of this world. There's game to be had and fruit to be harvested." The Lightbearer's tone had softened considerably since Du Fells Nángoröth. It was encouraging. Unity was forming within Kiphoris's once divided crew.

But not all his crew were well, he knew. Those he left behind were in dire straits - something he would have to tackle when they linked up.

A Captain's duty was never done.

"I hope we will. I haven't enjoyed life like this since I was a hatchling. Oh the mischief mine-brothers and I would make! The future is bright." Melkris looked up. "Or is that the sun? At times I find it difficult to tell."

Ikharos made a mock sound of disgust. "Seriously. Don't you ever quit?"

The Vandal smirked cheekily, closing his outer eyes and baring his serrated teeth. "What is wrong? That was tame."

"It always starts tame. Then it ramps up to something deranged."

"You enjoy it."

" _Eliko_ , I get enough crap from Xiān as it is."

"Ah, we are kindred spirits, she and I!"

Ikharos turned to Kiphoris. "Does he ever switch off?"

Kiphoris shook his head. "No, he does not."

Melkris scoffed. "You two are bland. You do not appreciate me."

"I'd appreciate you a lot more if you'd speak less," Ikharos muttered.

" _Hulunkles_!" Melkris cried. He dramatically fell back onto the soft reeds of the banks. "My comrades turn on me!"

"We're about to."

Kiphoris laughed. He had been about to add his own remark to the mix when he noticed Arya approaching. His smile fell and he assumed a serious, professional air. " _Ikha Riis_ ," he said. Ikharos followed his gaze.

"Ah," the Lightbearer said distastefully. His good mood had quickly evaporated. "Fine."

Arya looked at them all in turn with a cold, neutral expression. "Is now the right time?" She asked testily. She was clearly impatient and frustrated, try as she might to hide it. "Tell me the truth. All of it."

Ikharos looked at Kiphoris. "You want to start or will I?"

Kiphoris shrugged. "You might be clearer."

The Lighbearer sighed. "So be it. You're going to want to sit for this" He indicated to Arya a spot on the grass. She reluctantly sat down, completing the four-person square. Ikharos drew in a breath and said, "None of us are from this world."

A heavy silence followed. Then, "What?"

"We're from other worlds."

Arya glared at him. "I don't appreciate your attempts at humour."

"It's not humour. Either accept it or don't."

Kiphoris shook his mandibles so they clacked against his inner fangs. "Peace, _Ikha Riis_. Arya, he does not lie. Mine-people and _Ikha Riis_ are from beyond the sky."

Her glare turned on him. "Whatever game this is, I have no patience for it."

"These are no games. You have presented your question, we have provided the answer."

Ikharos continued on in his blunt fashion: "I'm a magical, nigh-on immortal undead soldier. The Eliksni are wanderers who have crossed the stars for centuries in search of both a new home and their lost god. Arke is an ontopathic, paracausal, shapeshifting ambitiovore. And Kida's a machine. None of us are from this planet - your world. Besides Zeshus. She's a Keplerian, like you and Eragon and Orik."

Arya didn't say anything. Her glare remained strong.

Melkris shifted and lifted his wire rifle, eyes on the sky. " _Drakkir_ ," he said, faint alarm colouring his tone, " _Kirzen_..."

Kiphoris swiveled. At first he saw nothing but Saphira gently gliding above, Eragon on her back, but then he noticed what Melkris had spotted. Three winged shapes had separated themselves from the nearby mountains and steadily flew towards the dragon. From what Kiphoris could discern, hey resembled Saphira but smaller and less colourful. Their scales were smooth, their backs were devoid of sharp spines, and their skulls boasted no crested horns. They were sleek beasts, with dappled green and brown hides.

They were still some distance away, but the way they spread out as they neared Saphira made Kiphoris nervous.

"What are those?" Ikharos wondered in a low voice.

"Fanghur," Arya answered. "Cousins of dragons. They are less intelligent, but one should not underestimate the danger they pose to the unprepared."

"They're getting close."

"Too close," Kiphoris observed. "Are they friend or foe?"

"Neither," Arya answered uncertainly. "They're only curious."

"I do not like this. Melkris!"

Melkris stood, brought the stock of his rifle against his upper shoulder. and peered through the scope. The wire rifle whined to life.

"No!" Arya said suddenly. "Wait! We're in their territory. We needn't cause them harm."

Saphira slowed down. She had seen the Fanghur too. They weren't quite as large as she, but they had numbers. Kiphoris's hearts quickened. The new beasts had almost reached her, but they hadn't attacked yet. They appeared merely curious, as Arya said, circling the dragon and snapping their jaws.

Then, as one, they began to shriek. The noise was incessantly loud, even as far away as the Fanghur were. They struck at Saphira with outstretched claws. All the dwarves jerked and ran for their weapons.

Melkris fired. One of the beasts shrieked a little louder after the high-velocity bolt cut through its shoulder. A glancing blow, far from mortal, but it did its job. The injured creature quickly backed away.

The others, though, continued their assault. Saphira roared at them and attempted to keep their claws from Eragon, but the Fanghur were quick and sly. They saw the human and knew he was an easy kill.

Melkris prepared to fire again, but he didn't need to. A small shape cut through the air and struck the back of one of the Fanghur with its talons, then screeched as it darted away. The Fanghur twisted about and gaze chase to the offending eagle, fury fueling its ear-piercing shriek. It easily caught up and snatched the eagle out of the air with its claws. Something must have happened, however, as the Fanghur suddenly stopped flying and fell down, disappearing from view.

The third and last beast suffered a heavy kick from Saphira. It retreated much like the one Melkris had shot and flew back to the mountains. The one that had fallen didn't resurface.

Melkris lowered his rifle and asked, "Was that...?"

"It was," Ikharos answered gloomily. "I guess that's how she's finding her meals."

Saphira quickly returned to the campsite. Eragon disembarked. Kiphoris was relieved to see that the Rider was unharmed, aside from a lingering headache.

"Were they another race unique to the Beors?" He asked curiously. He wore a hesitant smile. Saphira was not quite so modest; she preened and exulted in the glory of victory.

"We call them Fanghur," Orik told him. "They're not as intelligent as dragons and they can't breathe fire, but they are still formidable foes."

"So we discovered." Eragon frowned. "But the eagle... Why did it attack? It was the same one that followed us all the way here."

Kiphoris exchanged a look with Ikharos. Neither of them said anything, but they knew the answer. All his crew did. They all remained silent, worriedly looking about.

**000**

After initial excitement had passed, everyone returned to what they had been previously working on. The dwarves prepared supper, handed it out, and those who partook made clear their satisfaction in the meal. But not her.

Keeping her identity concealed was beyond mere frustration. It was agonizing. Breathing open air was a luxury she hadn't known would be taken away so quickly. Formora couldn't even eat where others could see. Every night she had to slink away like a criminal in the dark and get far enough that Arya wouldn't sense her casting her spells. The only positive to it was that her friends - and they were friends, of that she was sure - tried to ease her loneliness by accompanying her. Sometimes it would be Melkris and his incessant jokes, sometimes it would be a curious Javek who voraciously soaked up all the magical knowledge she dared to share, but mostly it was Ikharos, who was just as happy as she was to have someone to confide in.

Lately, though, the Risen had the presence of someone troubled by doubt. She'd noticed it since his return from Celbedeil. When the moon hovered in the centre of the sky and most of the dwarves had retired for the night, they strolled out of camp in glum silence. A part of her was worried it was Arke's actions that caused the change in him, but even when the Ahamkara had regained her flesh-and-blood form he hadn't been so quiet. Ikharos was not secretive: this she had learned very early on. It was not uncommon for him to be quiet for long stretches of time, but this was... too different.

"Tell me what ails you," she said once they had cleared a sizable distance from the camp.

Ikharos released a shaky breath. "I found another of the Six's... repositories."

"What did you find?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead he just handed her a device identical to the one they found in the chamber within Marna Mountain. It was powered and alight with words written in the human language. She read through it slowly. A cold chill crept up her spine.

"They lost," she surmised. "And... these prayers. They are Nezarec's?"

"Yeah."

"I'm... sorry."

"They're dead. I knew it already, but a part of me... Still, look at the final entry's date."

"That's thousands of years later. Signed by 'U'. Perhaps someone survived? Uren?"

"Or Sindral, but yeah, 'U' does seem more likely to be Uren." Ikharos shrugged. "Again, probably long dead by now. I can't give in to hope. I'll only be disappointed. We have to go on as we are: one Guardian strong." He looked back to the pad. "This pretty much confirms my theory. Nezarec doesn't only control Shades; he creates them."

"We already assumed as much."

"There was always room for doubt. Just not anymore."

"What is this artefact he speaks of?"

Ikharos held out his hand, summoning Xiān. The Ghost dropped a glass dome with a metal base and summarily disappeared. Within, attached to three separate vices, was a ragged shard of black alloy. It looked like a jagged fang ripped straight from the jaws of a supernatural predator.

"It can exert some measure of control over the entropy of its surroundings," Ikharos explained. "It's not ripping apart time like the Vex are prone to do, but it's speeding us forward. This temporal anomaly around Kepler isn't jumping us through time - it's rushing us through it. Time here is sped up compared to time on Earth. Maybe twenty days here is a day on Earth? I don't quite know the exact details just yet, but... To a violence-eater like Nezarec, this is perfect. He's turned Kepler into his personal tribute-engine."

"So his spear is the tool by which he controls time?"

"My analogy was inaccurate. He's not controlling time. He's controlling everything else. Everything physical at least, and all that links with it. Every atom within us has its own entropy, and he's speeding it up. People die quicker here than on Earth. No one realizes it because their minds are being sped up too. Everything here is quite literally faster, but because we're thinking at an appropriate speed, we don't feel that difference. It's... tough to explain."

"I think I understand. But what happens if we destroy Nezarec's spear?"

"Don't," Ikharos warned seriously. "We shouldn't even consider it. There's no telling what might happen. The entropy speeding up is subject to this world alone. Due to Kepler's orbit, taking the spear out of the equation could have... unpleasant repercussions. The seasons could stretch decades long. And a ten-year winter would be the death of everything not at the equator. Plants would freeze and die, animals and people would starve, et cetera."

Her mind darted back to the memories of the far north, where the ice and snows encompassed all where no trace of life remained. "So we have to ensure that the spear remains intact?"

"Yes."

Formora muttered a curse. "The more I learn, the more impossible our goal appears."

"My thoughts precisely."

Words fell away as they continued into the forest. Once she deemed them far enough, Formora undid the clasps on her helmet and dropped it on the ground. She reveled in the feeling of the night cold and the taste of the fresh, pine-scented air. She scooped up a clod of dirt from the forest floor, planted a seed onto the bare earth, and buried it over. Once that was done, she sang the plant into growth. The bush grew and grew, eventually sprouting more than enough ripe blackberries to satiate her hunger.

"I'll never get bored of that," Ikharos muttered softly.

Formora looked up. "The song?"

He nodded. "You could make a career out of that alone if you lived in the Last City."

"I'm not unique. Singing is a favourite pastime of all elvenkind. I'm sure your opinion will change once we reach Du Weldenvarden."

"I doubt it."

"I'm a warrior first, not a singer. There are others who have spent their entire lives perfecting the art."

"Do you want this compliment or not?"

"... I'll take it." She smiled.

"Thought so. Sing again?"

"I have my supper. There is no need."

"Aw."

A bout laughter reached her ears. It was too light and carefree to be Ikharos. She twirled about, sword drawn.

A Fanghur not twenty feet away. It was smaller than the other wind-vipers from earlier, about as large as a hound, and its scales were a glittering grey. It had blood around its maw, which it licked away with relish. It almost appeared to smirk at her with its golden eyes.

"Arke," Ikharos breathed. He lowered his knife but did not sheath it. He hissed through clenched teeth. "Fuck off."

The Fanghur slunk away back into the darkness of the forest. Arke's laughter gradually faded, but it continued to echo within Formora's mind. She shrugged off the unease she felt as best she could and tried to keep it behind her. _Dragons are beautiful_ , she thought, _but Ahamkara are horrifying._

**000**

Tellesa stood as still as she could, hands clasped behind her back and eyes fixed on a spot on the far wall. "My lady." Beside her, Murtagh was just the same, as motionless as a statue.

"Tellesa," Nasuada observed her with a cool, scrutinizing look. After a while, she said, "You pose a problem."

"Do I?"

"You do. But you may also be the solution I am searching for. You have not sworn yourself to the Varden's cause, true?"

"I was aligned with the rebel cell in Kuasta, under the command of Rendan."

"But the Varden proper?"

"I... no, my lady. I am not. But the cause is my own."

"So I realize. You also have connections both to Ikharos and the Eliksni."

Eldrin, the Scar who currently acted as Nasuada's guard, tilted his head ever so slightly at the mention of the word. He stood beside the desk that had formerly belonged to Ajihad. He was taller than a human and armed to the teeth. He posed an intimidating figure, what with his hooded cloak and many-eyed helmet. Eldrin had more than enough weapons for every hand and it was clear, just from a cursory glance, that he knew how to use them. If Nasuada's intent was to unnerve any and all who dealt with her, then having her Eliksni bodyguard at hand was sure to serve that purpose.

Mainly, though, it was for protection. If the guardsmen waiting outside the door failed to stop an assassin from entering, Eldrin would be the next line of defense. Tellesa knew what Eliksni warriors were capable of. No killer, human or dwarf, would reach Nasuada alive.

"I do," Tellesa admitted cautiously. The underhanded politics within the Varden was nothing short of disappointing, but it served to remind her that people were, at their core, flawed. Why should it be any different with the rebels?

"Can you communicate with the Eliksni?"

"I only know a few words, my lady. Do you wish me to convey something to your guards?"

"No, thank you. And what of Ikharos? Where does your connection with him lay?"

"He assisted the Kuastan rebel cell while I was there. He and I, along with another rebel, attempted to hunt down Durza after Kuasta's fall."

"Do you feel loyalty to him?"

Tellesa set her jaw. She didn't like where the conversation was going. "I do. We are friends."

Nasuada hummed. "I would like you to swear allegiance to the Varden. It raises too many fears if we are to allow oathless warriors into our ranks. It may even satisfy the Council of Elders."

"My lady?"

Nasuada sighed tiredly. "Ikharos refused to swear fealty. The Council doesn't appreciate having a loose ally like he. If you were to swear yourself to our cause, it would alleviate them."

"I am leverage to prevent Ikharos from turning on the Varden," Tellesa realized. A spike of anger welled up. She struggled to keep it from becoming too obvious. "He wouldn't do that."

"So I believe, but considering how he flouted the Council's authority, they do not share the same opinion."

"I thought you commanded the Varden, not they." Tellesa regretted the words as soon as they left her. They were too biting and direct.

Nasuada frowned. "I _do_ command the Varden."

"My lady, I meant no disrespect-"

"I understand your concerns." Nasuada paused. "Will you give me your oath?"

Tellesa knelt and drew her blade. She held it out for Nasuada. "I, Tellesa Kjallasdaughter, give you my blade and my fealty, Lady Nasuada."

Nasuada stepped around her desk, gingerly grasped the Eliksni sword, and tapped it against Tellesa's shoulders. "I accept your oath. I thus name and recognize you as a warrior of the Varden. Rise, warrior, and take your sword."

Tellesa did so, sheathing the shock blade.

"Have you led others before?"

"No."

"Therein lies my next problem. There are procedures to be seen and recommendations to consider. So be it, we will start at the beginning. Tellesa Kjallasdaughter, you fought bravely and fiercely against the Urgals. You will be given a posting as a serjeant. You will hold command over ten warriors of the second banner." Nasuada retook her seat and pushed a sealed scroll across the desk. "Here are your orders, permissions, postings, and rank."

"Thank you, my lady."

"Serve well and you may rise further. Now, Murtagh." Nasuada's tone became a mix of cordial and strained. "There is... a larger issue. Your loyalty is not to the empire, that much is evident."

"It is not," he replied firmly.

"My father allowed you the chance to prove it, and you have. Even so, I hope you understand the... complications that this poses. First I must ask after your intent: will you stay and fight alongside the Varden or will you leave?"

Tellesa forced herself to keep a neutral expression and stay silent. It was his decision, not hers. It wouldn't be right to make his decision for him. Her path was chosen, but his was yet to be walked.

Murtagh glanced at her and said, "I think I will stay and fight."

She couldn't stop the edges of her lips from turning up, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it.

Nasuada sighed. "Then that alleviates some difficulty. Even so, this is no simple matter. Much like Tellesa, it would put many at ease if you are willing to take an oath."

"I am willing."

"Before you do, understand that the same rewards will not be open to you. Many still do not trust the idea of the son of Morzan joining us."

"I... understand," Murtagh said with some difficulty. "But I will do my best."

"Good. Draw your sword."

* * *

"You were very professional."

Tellesa shrugged. "I'm a soldier. I always have been, even if I was too blind to see it. I'm meant to fight."

Murtagh furrowed his brow. "But these plans are foolhardy."

"You don't agree with Nasuada?"

"One victory does not win the war. There is so much more work to be done before Galbatorix can be defeated. _If_ he can be defeated at all."

"Ikharos will kill him."

"You seem very sure of that."

"Aren't you?" She asked, surprised. "You've seen what he can do. He killed Durza!"

"I do not think Galbatorix will be so easily destroyed. Mad he may be, he is no fool. If word of Ikharos reaches him, he will prepare."

Tellesa frowned. "His preparations won't be enough. So many of us are arrayed against him; the elves, the dwarves, the Varden, Surda, and now the Eliksni. He can't possibly triumph now."

Murtagh exhaled heavily. "Perhaps.

They had reached their destination. Tellesa pushed the door open and strode inside.

The room was like any other barracks in the city, with twenty bunks and chests. There were only four people inside: three men and one woman. Two of the men were in conversation, the third was dozing away, and the single woman sat at the side of her bed, sharpening her sword.

They looked up as Tellesa and Murtagh entered, barring the sleeper. One of the men sneered, but his friend elbowed him. The woman raised an eyebrow and asked, "So which of you is the new serjeant?"

Tellesa hardened her expression and took a single step forward. "That would be me. I suppose you're the seventeenth mounted squadron of the second banner?"

The woman looked around at the empty beds. "Some of it, aye. The other lads will be back soon." She peered up at Tellesa curiously. "You came here with Eragon, didn't you?"

"I did."

"So now you've joined the real war."

Tellesa found issue with her tone. "I was in the war long before."

"Were you now? And what, pray tell, were you doing?"

"Fighting Urgals while you lot hid in a mountain."

One of the men, the one who had sneered earlier, bristled. The woman laughed uproariously. "I like that! I like that. " She grinned widely. "Your name's Tellesa, right? We've heard of you. I think everyone in the mountain did. Your weapon's a demon."

"And you?" Tellesa held back on her reservations. She couldn't tell if the woman was being honest or mocking her.

"Kielot." The woman put aside her sword and stood to attention. "Been an outrider for some seven years. Most of it spent doing nothing more than fighting off bandits or stray slavers, but the Urgals were good practice. Those two, Horseface and Broken Nose," she nodded to the two men, "are Honsel and Crait. Sleepyhead is Olged."

Honsel glowered. Crait offered Tellesa a respectful, if reserved, nod. Olged continued to snore.

 _This is who I have to work with_ , Tellesa thought bleakly. She hardened her resolve. _But I will push them on. I will make them hate me. I will turn them into the best godsdamned squadron in all the Varden._

**000**

The dwarves seemed more at ease the day after the Fanghur attack. Kiphoris attributed it to the distance they'd managed to put between them and Tarnag. Az Sweldn rak Anhûin were unlikely to catch up, even if they knew which direction to take. Ekksvar, who directed the raft Kiphoris was on, began to sing as soon as they set off in the morning.

" Down the rushing mere-wash  
Of Kílf's welling blood,  
We ride the twisting timbers,  
For hearth, clan, and honor.  
Under the ernes' sky-vat,  
Through the ice-wolves' forest bowls,  
We ride the gory wood,  
For iron, gold, and diamond.  
Let hand-ringer and bearded gaper fill my grip  
And battle-leaf guard my stone  
As I leave the halls of my fathers  
For the empty land beyond."

Their elven guide, though, was the opposite. Arya was troubled. And even more suspicious. It was warranted, though, considering what she'd been told _and_ what she'd witnessed. She likely had a fair idea who the eagle of the previous day was.

Kiphoris looked over his shoulder. A distant, easy-to-miss dot in the dreary morning sky assured him that Arke was still following. Her new form was cause for alarm. He hadn't seen it for himself, but if Ikharos and Formora were to be believed, then the Ahamkara was growing at an exponential rate. Her hunger would only increase. And his control over her would be stretched to the breaking point.

A pit of worry ate away at his resolve. They needed the elves' magic and knowledge of the arcane to forge further binding oaths. The leash he held over Arke was tentative, barely held together. He'd guaranteed the safety of those around him, but even that wasn't a sure thing. Ahamkara were riddles incarnate; he had far to go if he intended to best Arke in this newest clash. They couldn't allow for a single flaw in the intricate cage.

* * *

Like the day before, the second evening since leaving Tarnag was uneventful up to a certain point. Melkris, who was on his way to claim the title of 'the Voracious', continued to watch the dwarves prepare the next meal, only this time the shockshooter strolled over, and despite the language barrier he and the dwarves found a rudimentary form of communication through sweeping hand gestures. Their designated cook, Dûthmér, allowed Melkris to help out and offered him clear instructions. Melkris just closed his outer eyes and played along.

"That doesn't bode well," Formora observed.

Kiphoris chuckled. "No, it does not. Does it Melkris?!"

The shockshooter turned about and gave them a little wave. Dûthmér snapped something. Cowed, Melkris went back to stirring the pot.

Saphira was curled up against a tree, with Orik and Eragon sitting and talking in front of her. Javek was to the other side of the camp, practicing his spells. Many a rock was lifted. Ikharos was with him, helping him refine his ability. Kida watched over them both as a silent sentinel.

All was quiet and calm. The only sounds to be heard were the hushed whispers of those in discussion and the crackling of the fire. Obleker lay dormant beside Kiphoris, and Melkris had, mercifully, given up on trying to tell his jokes to the dwarves, who couldn't understand a word he said.

A rumble split the air, guttural with fury and muted by great distance. It was accompanied by a cacophony of troubled howls and yelps. The dwarves cursed and, as with the Fanghur, reached for weapons. Formora flinched and leapt to her feet, looking around the camp and into the darkness of the dense pine forest beyond.

"Urzhad!" Thorv, the lead dwarf, exclaimed frightfully. He glanced over at Saphira. "Great bear!"

The dragon got to her feet and bared her teeth at their gloomy surroundings. " _Does it come for us?_ "

"No." Arya strode forward, sword drawn and limbs tensed. "Did you hear the others? Shrrg. Giant wolves."

Kiphoris's mandibles shivered as anticipation and intrigue swept through him. He began to rapidly click and chirp. Melkris and Javek heard. They took up the call.

"What-?" Eragon began, confused, but Kiphoris cut him off with an excited bellow.

"We hunt!" He declared. Kiphoris turned his gaze to Ikharos. "Do not wait. We will catch up when we have finished. Keep Obleker with you."

Ikharos nodded. He wore a bemused expression. "Don't be long. Enjoy?"

Kiphoris laughed. "We shall! _Melkris_ , _Javek_ , _ne da hus_!"

"Wait!" Arya called. "Don't-"

But they were already running, moving on all six limbs for speed, in the direction of the origin of the roars. Kiphoris's blood was up; he heard it pounding in his eardrums, flushing through his hearts. It was instinctual, for a warrior and an Eliksni. He needed a challenge, and the Beor Mountains had finally provided it.

* * *

The wind carried the taste of blood. The trees bore scars, old and new. The growls and bellows of a bestial, primal fight filled the air. It was exactly what he was looking for.

Kiphoris slowed as he and his subordinates happened upon a forest clearing. The scene of the battle was one of destruction. Bushes were uprooted, two trees had been knocked over, and dirt had been displaced by heavy claws. A beast, so much larger than Kiphoris envisioned, ripped at a too-narrow hollow in the earth and snapped its drooling jaws whenever a lesser creature darted too close.

It was massive, easily as large as a Skiff, and clothed in a heavy coat of brown and silver fur. It had four thick limbs - two forelegs and two hindlegs - and each was tipped with five hooked claws large enough to be a full-sized weapon in the hands of a human. A pronounced muscular hump rested over its shoulders, giving it the appearance of being larger than it was - it was large enough already without that illusion. Its slavering jaws were huge and already dripping red. It had a dished-in face from which the snout darted out, and small, short rounded ears on top of its skull.

It was attempting to dig open a burrow large enough for a Vandal to comfortably walk in. Judging from the high-pitched cries coming from the burrow, it didn't belong to the giant beast. More likely it was the home of the other creatures which were attempting to distract it. They were large enough themselves, similar in size to the horse-beasts employed by the native humans. They possessed more lithe figures compared to the creature Kiphoris assumed to be the Urzhad, though their bodily power was not to be denied. Their necks and bodies were taut with muscle, and like the bear they wore coats of thick fur ranging in colour from black to grey to brown. They had thinner, quick limbs which they used to dart in and out of danger.

 _Wolves_ , Kiphoris realized. _These are wolves. They move quickly. They calculate the risks. Their howls! Their determination! I adore them. They are brilliant! Glorious!_

One of the wolves already lay dead, head almost torn from the body. It had run the risk of getting swatted and paid the price. The others, all three of them, became more cautious and shy as a result, but they didn't give up. They were defending their home _and_ their young. They would not be dissuaded, even when faced with death.

 _Admirable_. Kiphoris studied the creatures appreciatively. _To be named after these animals is an honour._

"What is our plan?" Melkris hissed. "Which shall we hunt, Veskirisk?" He slipped his wire rifle free and loaded it with a fresh battery.

Kiphoris took in the scents, looked over the scene, and checked their surroundings. Satisfied that there were no surprises in wait, he pointed to the Urzhad and said, "That. We hunt that."

Javek chittered. "Great beast. Strong. Dangerous. Too dangerous. Much glory. Much risk."

" _Eia_." Kiphoris grinned. "Why I picked it." He drew Ka'Den, strode forward into the clearing, and roared. The wolves fell silent and turned to take in the new threat. The bear pulled its head out of the hollow and lurched about to settle two beady, rage-filled eyes on him. It lifted itself up on its hind limbs and stood so tall that Kiphoris had to crane his neck to see its face, and let loose its own booming call, eclipsing his own.

"Psekisk!" Melkris cursed.

Undeterred, Kiphoris took another step forth. "Come to me, you great _psesiskar_! You cowardly _Ba'Sha_! Take up my challenge!"

The maddened beast, infuriated by his lack of fear, fell down on all fours and pelted forward. It was fast despite its hulking size, an engine of muscle and fat fronted by jaws strong enough to crush bone and armour. Javek and Melkris scattered. Kiphoris stood his ground. When the beast crossed an imaginary line, he tossed a shock grenade right into the beast's eyes. It yelped as Arc erupted across its face. Kiphoris took the opportunity to step past the stampeding creature and thrust his shock sword into its flank.

The blade pierced the thick layer of fur, but only just. Kiphoris reckoned the Arc charge did more damage than the blade did, though it only served to further enrage the bear. It did a full-turn, swinging out with its claws. Kiphoris teleported away to safety. With a muttered curse he sheathed Ka'Den and tugged his pistols from their holsters. He didn't wait for the beast to get any closer; he unloaded all four arcarms into the Urzhad's titanic form. Shock bolts ripped into its visage, but the bear was sturdier than he previously envisioned - it shrugged off the pain and went right for him.

A crossfire of wire-shots and homing Arc darts slammed into the bear, highlighting the efforts of Kiphoris' underlings, though it had limited effect. It came at him with snapping jaws and ripping claws, but he was a Wolf. He was faster than it. Kiphoris went low and scurried under what would have been a fatal blow, firing all the meanwhile.

The bear went for him again and again, feral with rage. Kiphoris escaped again and again, graceful in movement and savage in retaliation. His guns clicked empty, so he tossed them aside and returned to the blade. It was riskier, but the blade would bite deeper. He slashed and jumped and pirouetted and hacked so swiftly that he was little more than a blur of crackling power and violence. His muscles burned and his blood roared. Kiphoris roared with it.

His mortality caught up with him. He began to tire. It slowed him. And the bear, whose fury supplied it with unending resilience, exploited it. A paw caught him, shattering his personal Arc shield and biting into his front. Claws rent through armour and dug painfully across his exoskeleton. The force of the blow sent him careening through the air and then tumbling across the detritus-covered forest floor.

Kiphoris's breath jarred in his lungs. He blinked away the daze and glared at the bear lumbering over to him. The animal knew an advantage when it saw one. It went for him, ignoring the barrage that continued to hit it, and fixed him with a vile, hateful look. It picked up speed and-

A dark form slammed against the bear's side and savaged its shoulder in a brave, but ultimately useless, attempt to bring the beast down. The Urzhad slowed and whipped around to kill the bold wolf, but the smaller predator was quick to back away out of claw range.

Kiphoris climbed to his feet and leapt at the bear. His claws sank into fur and caught a grip. He quickly scaled the beast just before the huge jaws could snap around his legs. He grabbed onto the Urzhad's neck and found he couldn't actually circle around it with his arms.

Kiphoris pulled Ka'Den around the beast's neck and grasped onto the end of the blade with his other upper hand. Kiphoris used his other hands to keep holding on as the bear below him bucked and tossed itself around in an attempt to knock him off. He locked his legs around its enlarged back.

The wolves, emboldened by the act, raced in and made themselves a nuisance to the larger beast. Kiphoris angled the edge of Ka'Den against the layer of fur and fat protecting the animal's throat and pressed down on the activation trigger of the Arc crystals. He barely managed to hold back a scream as the burn of the activated shock blade seared into his palm and fingers. Using his locked legs as leverage, he pulled back with all his might. The Urzhad roared and bellowed, shaking about in a frenzy borne of newfound fear and sudden pain.

Once the fur parted, Ka'Den slipped right through the flesh, muscle, and cartilage beneath. Blood sizzled and steamed as it poured past the burning blade. Kiphoris kept cutting with single-minded determination, even as the struggles of his foe weakened and eventually ceased altogether. Only when the Urzhad collapsed, dead, did he relent.

Kiphoris released the trigger and leaned back. His hand flared with pain, but he ignored it. Silence fell over the clearing. The wolves looked at the bear, him, and then raced back to their den. One of them approached the corpse of its fallen relative and howled mournfully.

Melkris and Javek cautiously approached, both warily watching the wolves.

" _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_?" Javek called out. " _Drakkir_? Are you wounded?"

Kiphoris looked down. His hand was a mess of seared flesh. His chest wasn't much better. "Nothing magic cannot fix," he reported numbly. He slipped down from the massive bear's back and stumbled. Melkris caught him.

"Careful, mine-Captain," the shockshooter urged him.

Kiphoris bared his teeth and flared his mandibles. "I am fine. I am fine! It is merely exhaustion." He felt for his bandolier and found it gone. The bear's claws had ripped it away. "Where is..."

"Here." Melkris offered him a flask. Kiphoris gratefully accepted it and popped off the lid. He drank in the ether and exulted in the frost permeating his muscles, filling him with vitality.

"Thank you." He attempted to hand it back.

" _Nama_ , drink it all." Melkris turned to regard the fallen beast. "That was... legendary. Trophy-worthy!"

Kiphoris grunted. "Cut me some of its claws. And fur. I will to bear the spoils of this victory."

"Yes, mine-Captain." The shockshooter slipped his knives free and set to the task. Fur, teeth, claws, bones, skulls - all were prizes in waiting.

Javek snarled all of a sudden. Kiphoris turned on his heel, claws at the ready. Three of the wolves, led by a big grey-white elder, approached. Javek raised his rifle.

"No!" Kiphoris ordered. The creatures before them were tense, but not with the readiness of attack. They had a skittish presence to them. The wolves breathed heavily and their snouts were low to the ground.

While most stayed back, hackles raised and teeth bared, but the elder boldly stepped ahead of the invisible boundary. It thrust its head forward and sniffed Kiphoris. He remained motionless, allowing it to satisfy its curiosity. Finished, it stepped back and gave him a strange look.

Kiphoris raised his hand cautiously. The wolves, Shrrg, were large enough to rip off his arms if they set themselves to it, but the elder did no such thing. It watched him right back with bright yellow eyes and allowed him to place an uninjured hand against its neck. The fur wasn't luxuriously soft, but coarse like the bear's. It was matted with moisture, dirt, and blood,and despite it all the animal continued to hold onto the image of wild regality.

"You are inspiring," Kiphoris murmured.

The old wolf made a chuffing sound and pulled away. It retreated and led its kin to the dead wolf, where it joined in the sorrowful keening.

Kiphoris observed the animals for some time. Eventually he turned to help Melkris. Javek covered them, his rifle loaded and ready to fire.

**000**

For all the frustrations that came with using rafts - why use flimsy floats when Sparrows, Pikes, and a Skiff were available? - they made good progress. It was mid-afternoon on the third day that the mountains cleared away to reveal wide, open plains waiting beyond. They were on the east side of the Hadarac, and the heavy heat that pressed down served to remind them of that.

Ikharos gazed longingly to the west. He could take his Sparrow back to the Blasted Mountains and have a look at the dead Titan's tomb again. There might be more secrets to unearth, more relics to recover, and more conspiracies to uncover.

" _We've already cleared it_ ," Xiān assured him. " _There's nothing for us there._ "

" _We could be more useful literally anywhere else. Not here, playing honour guard._ "

" _Playing emissary more like. We need to humour Kiphoris. We have to play this war by Eliksni rules, not Guardian. There's not enough of us to warrant it. Plus, with us and the Scars working together, this'll go swimmingly._ "

" _How?_ "

" _We know how Eliksni work. After centuries of foiling their efforts, now we can do the opposite and help them. We know where their strengths and weaknesses lie. We know what to protect, what to change, and what to leave as it is._ "

Ikharos looked over his shoulder. " _We can only do that if the Eliksni are with us. They haven't showed._ "

" _They're hunting._ "

" _They're taking their time._ "

" _They'll catch up._ "

" _The others don't know that. They'll insist we wait._ "

" _Convince them otherwise._ "

" _I'd rather not speak at all. I don't know these people._ "

" _Want me to do it?_ "

" _No. We need to keep some secrets. I won't give everything away to these people. They're our allies, but they're not our friends._ "

" _I swear you make up these problems just to have an excuse to be annoyed._ "

Ikharos huffed. " _Hardly._ "

" _Alright, if you really don't want a solution, we can just wallow in despair._ "

Ikharos decided that there and then was a good place to stop talking. Before it devolved into argument. He knew his limits, though it had taken him literal centuries to find them.

* * *

That evening, Thorv chose a small cove for their camp. Ikharos helped the dwarves set up their tents and start a fire. After that, he settled in and tended to Kida. He checked the Frame's vital components to ensure they were holding.

"You doing well?" He asked.

"Yes sir."

"Any trouble."

"One problem, sir. My communications array appears to be damaged."

"Can you manage close-band comms?"

"Yes sir."

"Then it's a problem we'll have to live with. We'll repair it when we have the resources," Ikharos lied.

Kida made a compliant sound. "Yes sir."

"What do you think about this?" Ikharos gestured to the camp.

"Elaborate."

"Do you think anyone here wants to kill me?"

Kida's eye made a choppy whirring sound. "Native hominids possess rudimentary weaponry. Threat is present, but not of much concern. If hostile actions are taken, I will move to engage."

Ikharos hesitated. "No. If hostile action is taken, _I'll_ deal with it. An overhasty reaction could do more harm than good."

"Understood." The Frame shifted. "Query: is that human attempting hostile action? He isn't very effective."

Ikharos looked over. Eragon had laid claim to a clear spot within the boundaries of camp to practice his swordcraft. From a glance it was obvious that the Rider knew his stuff - his form was good and his footwork was even better. "No, not hostile action. That's just him keeping his skills fresh."

"Are skills easily forgotten among organic lifeforms?"

Ikharos frowned. "That a dig?"

"It seems highly inefficient."

"Yeah, that's a dig. Kida, you're an ass."

Kida didn't laugh, didn't wink, didn't do anything that a human would do in that scenario. It made every conversation with him feel hollow. He didn't have a true personality. He only had the ability to imitate. False-life.

A sudden cry stole his attention. Ikharos stood up, knife in hand, but he soon saw that they weren't under attack. Eragon had just fallen. He would have disregarded it if the rest of the camp hadn't fallen into a fit of panic. He looked again.

The Rider was writhing in pain.

"The hell?!" He left Kida and rushed over. Saphira had already gotten there, grabbing Eragon as tenderly as she possibly could and pulling him close. "What happened?"

No one answered him. Saphira allowed Arya to get close, but as soon as Ikharos took a step, the dragon bared her teeth and growled at him. He reluctantly retreated. Formora joined him mere moments later.

"Poison?" He wondered, but he quickly disregarded it. The stew wasn't yet ready, and there were few other mediums for poison to be utilized.

"Magic," Formora told him. "Durza is not finished with us."

"Son of a Witch. What did he do?"

"I presume he dealt Eragon a curse."

Ikharos scowled. "Damned magic again. Here, give me the words I need to convince them I'm able to help."

"Say ' _Eka malabra né haina. Ëfa onr atra edtha eom komoa, eka munu heill älfr_.' It's ' _I mean no harm. If you allow me to help, I might heal him._ '"

Ikharos nodded and walked forward. Once again, Saphira gave him a warning growl. "Back!" She mentally roared.

Ikharos shook his head. " _Eka malabra né haina. Ëfa onr atra edtha eom komoa, eka munu heill älfr_ ," he said with slow deliberation, so he could get his point across clearly.

Arya looked up, narrowed her eyes, then said something to Saphira. It was too soft to make out. After a second full of suspicious scrutinization, Saphira backed away. Ikharos took it as an invitation and crouched down beside the fallen Rider. Eragon was stock still, broken only by the steady rise and fall of his chest. He'd fallen unconconscious.

"What did this?" Ikharos asked.

"The wound left by Durza," Arya explained bitterly. "It is dark magic beyond my ability to mend."

"Show me."

They cut away Eragon's tunic and rolled him over. A terrible scar trailed from the Rider's right shoulder to his left hip. It was pale and, by all appearances, harmless, but there was no denying the faint aura of magic coiled around it. _No, not mere magic. Darkness._

"Psekisk," Ikharos cursed. "Durza was smart. This is a crippling curse. All the easier to capture a target with."

Arya looked at him sharply. "How do you know this?"

Ikharos hesitated. "I've seen its like before. Took one myself during the Great Disaster. An Acolyte tried to hamstring me while I was dueling its father. Killed them both, but the cut bothered me for a few days. They're easier to fix if you do so immediately. This is too far gone. I should have been told!"

" _Can you fix it or not?_ " Saphira demanded harshly.

"Potentially. It's grown too much. This is lingering Dark. An infection of sorts. It won't heal naturally. Wounds caused with Darkness seldom do. If we had a Sunsinger with us then we could force it out, but I'm not a Sunsinger. My Solar's a weapon, not for healing."

" _You can do nothing?_ "

"Just wait, would you?" Ikharos frowned. "I _could_ attack it with my Light, but that would have dire consequences. Those kinds of fights can get messy. No, we need to draw it out another way. Where's Durza's sword?"

Alarm crossed Arya's features. "Destroyed," she replied. "I shattered it into a thousand pieces and melted them down. Why?"

Ikharos exhaled slowly. "Dammit. We could have used the blade as a medium to extract the Dark. And use my Light as the bait to draw it out."

"What is this Dark you speak of? Black magic?"

He hesitated. "In a way. It's potent."

"Is there anything else we can use?"

"I don't know. We really needed that sword. If we had another Shade's weapon then… but I don't know..." His brain lit up. "Ceunon! The knife! We have a knife, I'll..." Ikharos's hopes dashed themselves against the rocks of realization. "Shit. Kiph has the knife."

"Kiphoris?"

"Yes."

They both looked behind the camp at the forest, as if it would somehow summon the Wolf there and then. He didn't show.

Ikharos sat back and sighed. "I guess we wait."

Arya turned back around. "Is there nothing we can do?"

"No. And we'll need Javek too. To draw out the Dark we'll need to reopen the wound. I'm not a doctor, so I'd prefer to have a medical professional on hand. This is too dangerous. Removing the curse could kill Eragon."

Saphira snapped her jaws together. " _That will_ not _happen._ "

Arya frowned, her expression one of puzzlement and anxiousness. "Magic can dull the pain and-"

Ikharos quickly shook his head. "Magic's a wildcard. There's already too many variables in the mix to toss that in. Javek's a Splicer - I trust that more than a risky spell."

"What you propose is too dangerous!"

"And what you propose could cause irreparable damage. Dark and Light are a step above your magic. If we try to meddle with this, we could trigger a worse reaction. It's too close to the spine; if the infection spread to Eragon's nervous system..."

Arya opened her mouth to say something, but she faltered. Eventually, she hardened her gaze and inquired, "How can we trust you with this?"

"Because I haven't let you down so far? _Eka malabra né haina. Eka weohnata reyna eom heill älfr_ _._ "

"... So be it."

Saphira lowered her head so that her features filled Ikharos's vision. " _If you let Eragon die, I will tear you apart. Slowly._ "

Ikharos grimaced. "I'm sure you will. Look, I'm not about to let him die. This is my job." He stood up and turned around. "Let's get him in a tent for the time being. Which one is his?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomda Blue for edits!


	43. Dauthné

S _he saw a pale world of snow and ice stamped beneath the feet of a shambling, hungry horde. In the centre of it all stood an obsidian citadel, the hue of it contrasting harshly against the surrounding winterland. The tall spire reached to the sky, as if to pierce the veil of clouds overhead, but it was engulfed in ruin. The fortress lay gutted by fire and smoke._

_Two figures struggled over the arch of the mighty gateway. One held a warhammer of solid flame and the other a sceptre carved from glass. They struck one another again and again, but neither relented. Not until, at last, the citadel collapsed upon itself. Destruction engulfed all._

_Three green stars glared at her through the darkness._

* * *

Formora woke with a start and grabbed Vaeta. The campfire had flickered its last dying breath not long ago, plunging the cove into shadow. The moon was hidden from them, but the stars were bright. She could see just fine.

She relaxed. Nothing was amiss. Formora took the time to reflect on the last lingering traces of the images within her mind. Never before had her dreams been so visceral. She could almost feel the chill of the place. Almost taste the smoke in the air.

Almost hear the screams.

Whatever it was, it was a place of death. A killing ground to surpass any other. There was no joy or hope in it. Only hatred and rage and a terrible sort of hunger.

She quickly moved on, eager to put those thoughts behind her. Hatred and rage were old friends, and hunger was no stranger, but joy and hope were to be cherished. It had taken so very long to rediscover them, and now she didn't want to let go. _Never again_ , Formora promised herself.

Her eyes fell upon Obleker and Kida and Ikharos, all settled into their own versions of slumber. Hope was a forgotten memory, one she had thought long-dead. But as the Risen had shown her, death wasn't always the end.

Formora stood and started to walk. She did not know where, and neither did she care. She just wanted to distract herself from the haunting memories of the dreamscape. Obleker's eye suddenly lit up purple. The Servitor trailed after her. It hummed quietly, curiously.

"I need to stroll," she told it with a smile. "But thank you for your concern."

Obleker just looked at her in that uncompromising, expectant way.

Formora relented. "Come along, then." She resumed walking. The Servitor floated beside her, never deviating from the course she set. How Obleker flew and how it understood her was beyond her understanding, and those were questions that could wait for another day. One with less excitement.

Soon they arrived by the river. The water flushed past, quite unconcerned with the troubles of the world. What did the currents care if the dragons were on the verge of extinction? If invaders from worlds between the stars had come to lay claim to land and lives? Nothing. In that it was like...

No. Nothing was like the nullscape. Ikharos called the nullscape an ocean, but what was an ocean without waves? Still. That was the only word she could allow for the nullscape. All-encompassing stillness. No high cheers of glee, no low cries of sorrow. No feeling. No conflict.

The nullscape did not suit her. Ikharos could wallow in the absence of being as comfortably as he desired, but not her. _No_ , Formora realized, _I am more like the current._

She held out a hand and marveled at the strand of Arc passing between her fingers. It was nothing compared to the storm the Risen could summon, Lightless as she was, but it was power nonetheless. It was too weak to fight her control, so it just went with the flow of her will. Like the river before them.

Formora sighed. She sat down, cross-legged, and asked Obleker, "What am I to do?"

The Servitor, beautifully alien with its purple eye and inky-black shell, rotated and whirred questioningly. It was marvelous how much emotion could be put into simple wordless sounds.

"What I have here is good. It is not perfect, but I... have come to know that perfection is not good. In the path of perfection lies madness, jealousy, anger. No, perfection is not for me. I am happy as I am, with Kiphoris, Melkris, Javek, Ikharos, Xiān and you. I haven't felt at ease with another soul for a very long time. Too long. But it could change. It likely will. All because I am going home." Formora clenched her jaw. Bitterness flushed through her. "I did not choose my past. I have done terrible things... and terrible things have been done to me. And yet I am to be judged for it."

She paused. "Do I deserve to be judged? Even unwilling, I was there. My people are angry. A century has passed, but I wager time has only fanned the flames of their rage. They will not care whether I was in control or not, because I am the face of their 'imperfection.' I am the reminder that they failed just as much as the humans. They are proud and self-serving. We elves think ourselves above the troubles of peoples who lack magic. We do not like to have our flaws pointed out." A cruel, sad smile made its way to her face. "Kiphoris is right. Ikharos being there will have an impact. But not the one he envisions. The elves will learn what the humans and dwarves feel when they look upon us. Some will even hate him for it."

Obleker hummed thoughtfully.

"My point is... I don't know what my point is. I am upset. I am scared. And I am excited to see how this pans out." Formora shrugged. "My emotions have gotten the better of me. Thank you for listening. I would appreciate it if you don't tell Javek."

The Servitor turned ever-so-slightly. It murmured in its own incomprehensible manner.

Formora shook her head. "I cannot tell if you are acquiescing or refusing. I suppose it does not matter. Dawn is almost upon us. Shall we return?"

* * *

The camp was abuzz with activity. Eragon had awoken. Kiphoris, Javek, and Melkris had returned. And Ikharos had reclaimed the Shade knife.

"Many apologies," Kiphoris bowed his head earnestly. He had a thick brown-silver pelt hanging from his shoulders. Part of an Urzhad claw hung from a string around his neck like a pendant. His chestplate had been gashed open, along with the chitin beneath, and he looked like he was in immense pain for every breath he took. His upper left hand was in even worse shape, as if he had grabbed onto a hot brand and refused to let go. "I did not think we would be needed."

"What the hell happened?" Ikharos asked, baffled. "You look like you've been through a war!"

Melkris, despite not comprehending, snickered. " _Kiphoris-Veskirisk shar. Ra shes._ "

Kiphoris clacked his fangs together, silencing Melkris. "I fought the bear. It was a mighty opponent." He gestured to Javek, who clutched something covered in a bloodstained cloth. "We bring a feast of victory."

Ikharos assumed a flabbergasted expression. "Just... why?"

The big Eliksni shrugged. "I desired to hunt. It is natural." His four eyes lit up. "We found wolves. They are mine-favourite. When I have time, I shall adopt them into mine-crew and mine-banner. They are greater than Cabal warbeasts. Much greater. They are worthy of great respect."

"Now you want a mutt?" Ikharos sighed. "Forget it. Can I borrow Javek?"

" _Eia_ , take him. Keep him if you wish."

"Someone's in a good mood."

Kiphoris said something to Javek. The Splicer handed the bounty of the hunt over to Melkris, who sniffed it with relish, and joined Ikharos as he walked back towards Eragon's tent. The young Rider was already up and out in front of it, straining his eyes against the glare of rising sun.

Formora followed them. If nothing else, she hoped to ease any difficulty in communication. Ikharos's direct manner could involuntarily alienate those they were here to protect, and that was far from ideal in a diplomat.

Fortunately, his tone with Eragon was both considerate and understanding. He explained the nature of Eragon's wound and the procedure necessary to alleviate him of the pain. "Alternatively, I can use a Rift to dull the pain here and now, and maybe further on, but those are temporary solutions. The pain will return - and I will not be around to help you."

"I don't want to live in fear of myself," Eragon said immediately. "I am useless like this. Whatever needs to be done, I'll do it."

"You don't need to do anything," Ikharos assured him. "I just wanted you to be aware of your options. Reopening the wound is not without its risks. We're in the wilderness here, not a hospital. This place is not ideal for surgery. Neither do we have the proper equipment. We might extract the infection, but you could die all the same. Arya tells me that there's a place of healing in Ellesméra - the Gardens of Tialdarí Hall. It might have what we need. You're gonna have to hold on until then."

Eragon nodded glumly. "I understand."

Ikharos patted him on the shoulder. "Good lad. Next time you feel a seizure coming on, get my attention. What Durza did is inexcusable..." The Risen turned about and started to chat with Javek in the Eliksni language. Formora could only pick out bits and pieces she understood.

"How do you feel?" She asked Eragon.

The human looked tired and unhappy - utterly hopeless. "... I am a broken vessel. I cannot train. I cannot fight. If I cannot recover, I will be useless. Nay, worse than useless - a drain on resources. At best I might be a figurehead. At worst, an unwanted guest."

"You can learn," Formora softly told him. "You are a Rider. Even the littlest actions can change entire lives. Do not forget that."

Eragon looked at her with surprise. "I... will not. Thank you."

* * *

She spent most of the day by herself, sitting by the raft's cabin and enjoying the untouched scenery around them. Javek was there with her, unendingly curious in matters of magic. The trials of communication tested both of their abilities to the extreme, but the Splicer was determined and she was happy to reward his diligence with what she knew.

The Az Ragni almost doubled in size as they left the Beors behind. The currents grew stronger and propelled them downstream more quickly than before.

The Urzhad meat and the accompanying tale of battle went swimmingly with the dwarves. Whatever reservations they had for the Eliksni before were quickly purged away. After hearing of his interaction with the Shrrg, they went on to refer to Kiphoris as the Wolf-Lord, or _Shrrg-Borith_. The Captain, for his part, wholeheartedly embraced it.

"What of your pelt?" Formora asked. "You don't wear it very often"

"It will be a gift," Kiphoris answered cryptically. His eyes were full of unrestrained joy. The slaying of the mountain bear had released something in him. Something good.

"To whom?"

"Ah, but that would be telling. _Nama_ , I cannot give it away." He flexed his formerly injured hand experimentally. Ikharos had healed it and the chest wound before they set off, cursing the Captain for being so reckless. Kiphoris had only laughed when he did so, to the surprise of all. "But I will allow a hint."

"Oh?"

"Her name rhymes with Tundrass."

Formora grinned, even if it went unseen beneath her accursed helmet. "Ah. I understand."

Kiphoris bared his many serrated teeth in a broad, if terrifying, smile.

Leaving the Beors was freeing for others too. Saphira and Eragon flew more often. Formora often watched them do so, battling the envy and sorrow in her heart with gladness to see them free of Galbatorix's grasp. It was inspiring, even if it dredged up memories she would rather have left forgotten.

Except those with Ilthorvo. Good or bad - if her dragon was present, then those memories were to be cherished.

It was at the junction between Az Ragni and the Edda River that they found Hedarth - a dwarven outpost for trading with the elves. There were few new dwarves present, and all stared at Saphira, Obleker, Kida, and the Eliksni as if they were wild figments of their imagination. It took some time for Orik and Thorv to get through to them. It was mildly amusing to see others experience, in some part, the sheer shock she'd gone through when her eyes were opened to the wonders of different worlds.

The dwarves exchanged the rafts for donkeys to carry them. They were the only ones to do so. Formora, Arya, and the Eliksni could keep up with or even outrun the beasts of burden with ease. Eragon had his horse Snowfire, Obleker could float speedily enough, and Kida was simply tireless.

Ikharos could have run with them too, but he surprised them by taking out his long-teased Sparrow. Everyone, even the Eliksni, watched with avid interest as the huge metal object took form before their very eyes. It was a glorious pale snow-white with two dangerous black tusks. It floated much like Obleker did, but whereas the Servitor could move almost silently, the Sparrow gave out a low, dangerous growl that she could feel in her bones.

Ikharos looked over it lovingly. "Josef called this his magnum opus. He named it the Shrike. His life's work. I've never seen its equal since." He sucked in a deep breath and mounted the Shrike. He gave them a quick salute, pressed down on a pedal with his boot, and summarily shot off.

It was fast. Very fast. And it _screamed_. Like the wail of a lost spirit. Or the cry of a predatory bird. A flare of burning light trailed behind it.

Kiphoris grunted, unimpressed. "A Pike would suit me better."

"How did he bring it here?" Eragon asked, struck by wonder. The dwarves echoed the question.

"Transmat," the Scar Captain explained gruffly. "Powerful creations, like mine-Skiff. Shall I explain it to you? I assure you, you will not understand."

* * *

They followed the Edda river to its source, Eldor Lake. The dwarves and Eragon ambled along on their beasts. Kiphoris and his Eliksni watched over them vigilantly. They stalked around like predators searching for prey, on the look out for the first hint of attack. Formora stayed with them to have people to talk to.

Ikharos, for the most part, scouted ahead, only returning when night fell. His machine, the Shrike, was as fast as a fired arrow. It cut through the air effortlessly, as if it held no weight at all. He clearly held the device close to heart, and not just for its function. There was something to it that endeared it to him.

On the second morning after Hedarth, he held out a hand to her and said, "Come on."

Formora hesitated.

Ikharos smirked. "You've killed two Ahamkara. Surely a Sparrow ride won't best you."

She couldn't resist the dare. Formora climbed aboard behind him and held onto him tightly. She'd seen just how fast the Shrike could accelerate.

For once, she was glad to have a helmet. The machine took off like a bullet, and the force of it almost threw her off. She struggled to recover and clenched her teeth - they were too close to the ground for her liking. Riding a Sparrow was very much like flying, and it gave rise to the Rider in her.

Ikharos turned the Shrike. The movement was abrupt and, again, almost threw her from the saddle. It was almost like he was attempting to test her resolve. Ikharos shook with what she deciphered to be laughter. Not _almost_. He _was_ testing her.

Formora steeled herself. She wouldn't be so easily beaten. He wouldn't hear her give in to fear.

Then the Shrike tumbled sideways through the air after a particularly vicious turn. Formora held on tight and scrunched up her eyes, sure they were about to crash, but the device balanced out and resumed course. Ikharos' laughter hadn't ceased.

"You... argh!" She growled.

Ikharos tapped something on the side of his helm. His voice filtered in through the sides of her helmet. "Sorry, what was that?" She could hear the smirk in his voice. "I didn't quite catch."

"You are despicable."

"You've flown atop a dragon. Is a Sparrow too much?"

"Dragons don't fly so dangerously! If you crash, you'll kill us both!" _Or just me_.

"Then you best hope I don't crash." He did something that sent the Shrike into overdrive. It sliced across the open fields, startling grazing gazelles and birds into fleeing.

As time went on, the fear faded away. It was replaced by the unique exhilaration only speed could bring. Ikharos showed off more of his terrifying tricks, each one more suicidal than the last, but he continued to display careful control over his movements.

"I've piloted Sparrows all my life," he explained. "For over three centuries I've relied on them. And this one is the best I've ever owned."

"How did you come by it?"

"It was a gift. For my two-hundredth rebirthday."

"From Josef? Who is he?"

Ikharos faltered. The Shrike lost speed. "Was. He was my... ward, for a time. When I reached the Last City, I handed him over to a family more responsible than me. Still, we kept in touch. I owed him that much."

"Why?"

"His mother died on the road to Normandy." Ikharos paused. An old, harrowed fatigue crept into his voice. The same tiredness he'd held onto at Vroengard. One borne of too much loss. "I remember her. I remember her parents. And their parents. They were part of the settlement under my protection. I couldn't keep that protection going. We had to move. Some of them didn't make it. Too many. Devils killed her. I wasn't enough to ensure their safety, even though I promised it to them. I failed them. And him."

"I'm-"

"Sorry. Yeah, I know. I know." Ikharos pressed down on the pedal. They rapidly sped up. The winds howled past them, but it wasn't enough to cut away the suddenly tense atmosphere.

"Did you kill those responsible?" Formora inquired.

"Some. Not all. But they'll die off. The Eliksni in Sol are in a bad way. Either they'll join Mithrax or they'll be Wormfood. And those bastards won't give in to the House of Light. Not in a million years."

* * *

Du Weldenvarden came into sight on the third day. The forest first appeared as a hazy ridge on the horizon, then quickly expanded into an unending emerald sea of dense foliage.

When night fell, Formora gathered Kiphoris and Ikharos. They gave her a questioning look, but she waited until she was sure that none were eavesdropping. "We must speak of manners."

"I take it this is aimed at me?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow.

Kiphoris snorted. "Most likely."

"No," Formora said crossly. She needed them to understand the gravity of what faced them. "Both of you. I must instruct you both so that, even if you don't follow my instructions, you won't be ignorant of what occurs around us." She took a deep breath. "My people are... old. I understand that both Risen and Eliksni are the same, but an overabundance of years and magic has shaped my people into the way they are. We, us, are all long lived, but only elves live in a world soaked in magic. Both of you rely more so on the machines you build." When Kiphoris opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand to silence him. "I mean no insult. Your lifestyle is one to be admired, and do not mistake me, I admire it. But not all elves will share that sentiment. Many will prefer to look to the traditions of the past rather than the opportunities of the future. We must keep that in mind if we are to traverse this diplomatic nightmare.

"You cannot afford to give offense when a grudge can be held for decades or centuries. Courtesy is the only way to prevent such hostility from accumulating. Given our lengthy lives, we adhere to our rituals rigorously, for they protect us from extremes. We cannot allow conflict to mar our years. If we did, we would go extinct.

"What do you ask of us?" Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes.

"To learn, or at least memorize, our mannerisms. We must be prudent where my people are concerned."

Ikharos blinked. "Sure. We can promise that much."

"I'd hoped so." Formora quickly ran through elven mannerisms and greetings. Ikharos and Kiphoris were quick learners - likely why they'd survived as long as they had. They soaked up the traditional phrases and gestures in little time. "What you have learned is basic, but given that both of you are strangers to Alagaësia, it is more than can be expected. If nothing else, performing only those customs will offer you some measure of credence."

"You're making me dread what lays ahead of us," Ikharos muttered.

Formora smiled regretfully. "Our home is wonderful and fantastic. I think you will both enjoy the visit. But I find my people... flawed. You may think otherwise upon meeting them. Neither Arya or I are representative of all elvenkind."

* * *

The fringe of Du Weldenvarden was almost upon them. Formora's heart was in her throat. She could scarcely breath.

Her only comfort was the nearby presence of those she trusted with her life. Melkris was silent and alert, Javek was tensed, and Kiphoris... was the same as he always was: attentive and shrewd. Ikharos came after them. He walked boldly, confidently, and yet full of knowing caution. He knew his worth, but he wasn't foolish enough to disregard the threat of what waited ahead. Kida was mute and dangerous, as usual, and Obleker was still just as otherworldly.

For better or worse, they were prepared.

At last they came upon a small meadow set between the Edda river and forest. "Stop here," Arya instructed. She treaded forth and called out, "Come forth, my brethren! You have nothing to fear. 'Tis I, Arya of Ellesméra. My companions are friends and allies; they mean us no harm."

"Do you vouch for them?" A voice sang out so quickly that Formora almost missed it.

Arya bowed her head. "I do."

Four elves appeared like nighttime wraiths. Two bore spears and two bore bows. All were garbed in tunics the color of moss and bark underneath flowing cloaks clasped at the shoulder with ivory brooches. They separated from the tree-line and encircled Arya, laughing with unrestrained joy, singing merrily all the while.

"Is this some sort of trap?" Ikharos whispered. "Because this is odd."

Formora groaned, exasperated. "Don't insult them. Or anyone, for that matter."

"Wasn't going to," the Risen grumbled.

Saphira glided over the river and landed beside Eragon. The startled elves leveled their weapons, but Arya spoke to them with quick, soothing words in the ancient language, gesturing to Saphira and Eragon. The Rider pulled off his glove and revealed his gedwëy ignasia, saying, " _Eka fricai un Shur'tugal. Atra esterní ono thelduin_ _._ "

Formora's own itched. She drowned the feeling with forced disinterest. She couldn't afford to give into melancholy. Not when others needed her.

The elves lit up with relief and joy. They lowered their weapons and pressed their forefingers to their lips, bowing and murmuring, " _Atra du evarínya ono varda_."

Their attention soon turned to the Eliksni, whose eyes were unmissable in the dim evening light. Kiphoris lowered his head, closed his outer eyes, and brought the fingers of an upper hand to his facemask. " _Atra esterní ono thelduin_ ," he said. His deep, discordant voice had minor difficulty in pronouncing the flowing words. "I am _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_ , representative of mine-people, the Eliksni of the Great House of Scar. We come in peace and offer friendship."

The elves gushed, laughing and singing. They pointed at the dwarves, still laughing gladly, and retreated to the forest. "Come, come!" They called out.

Formora made to follow with the rest, but Ikharos grabbed her hand. She stopped and gave him a hard look.

"Hey," he said softly. His expression was one of concern. "Are you alright?"

"I think so."

"We've arrived and... I just want to know if you intend to reveal here or later."

Reveal her identity. Formora's blood went cold. "Later," she croaked.

Ikharos nodded. "Later then." He squeezed her hand and let go. "Whatever you decide, we're with you."

**000**

Kiphoris growled as a branch whipped across his helmet. He had to stoop low to follow the path of the elves, though it allowed him to pick up on their scent all the better. In the end he reverted to all six limbs and scuttled through the forest, allowing him to catch up with the dancing creatures. Melkris followed close behind, giggling along.

"I like these ones!" The shockshooter called out. "They are not as stern as _Zeshus_ or Arya."

Kiphoris grunted noncommittedly. "Do not speak ill of our allies."

"I only meant that they should be more happy."

"We are not all like you, Melkris. Happiness can be hard to come by."

A fire glowed through the trees, casting shadows as large as dragons. Kiphoris and Melkris were first to reach it. Three small huts clustered together around the base of a large oak. High in the tree was a roofed platform where a watchman could observe the river and forest. A pole had been lashed between two of the huts: from it hung bundles of drying plants, likely herbs or foodstuffs.

The four elves vanished into the huts, then returned with their arms piled high with fruits and vegetables - but, curiously, no meat. It must have been a race-wide trait of elves, not just something confined to Arya and Formora. A tad disappointing, Kiphoris thought. His kind were natural carnivores. Ether would sustain them, and edible fruit would enhance that diet, but the flesh of wild beasts was the most delectable of delights. If they had to play by the rules of the elves, it would be sorely missed.

Though, he reflected with amusement, it might rein in Melkris's growing appetite. The shockshooter had no self-restraint when it came to food. At least Javek had the decency to wait until others had their meals portioned out - not so with Melkris.

"Let the others have their fill," Kiphoris ordered.

Melkris chittered unhappily. "But it is their fault for being slow!"

"What have I said?"

"Fine, fine, so be it! I will... wait..." The shockshooter continued to salivate at the sight of the laden platters.

He was as insatiable as a starving _Drekh_.

The dwarves, human, dragon, and automatons caught up. Ikharos and Formora trailed behind them at a slower pace. Kiphoris gave Melkris a last warning look as he stalked over to the two.

"Are you well?" He asked the elf.

She nodded. "I am. Thank you."

He half-closed his outer eyes. "I can imagine how you feel. I do not think I would be brave if I had the chance to return to my former house. _Nama_ , I would be terrified. Our kin give rise to the fear in us. Terrible fear. You are brave to do this."

Formora shrugged. "I'm only doing this because you say it will... help us, though I'm still not certain how. We elves are set in our ways."

"As I've discovered," Ikharos mumbled. He received an elbow jab to the ribs for his troubles. "Ow."

"As I was saying," Formora said, giving the Lightbearer a dirty look, "my people are set in their ways. Explanations, even in the ancient language, may not satisfy them. Not after all they lost..."

"Zeshus," Kiphoris said in a solemn, serious voice. "You are an ally of Scar. You have done well by us to slay the Wish-Beast of Ceunon. We will not allow you to fall. And I will make that clear to these elves. I cannot imagine them to be fools. If harm befalls you, they will contend with the wrath of mine-people. We are honour-bound to stand by you."

Formora inhaled deeply. "Thank you, Kiphoris. Truly."

"Why do you humans always thank me preemptively? It is silly. Do not thank me now. Not until mine-words save your life." He returned to the camp, where the elves were handing out food to their guests. Javek sat with the dwarves, quiet and respectful, but Melkris was almost trembling with excitement. It evidently unnerved their hosts. "Do not mind him," Kiphoris reassured them. "He is a harmless fool with eyes bigger than his stomach."

One of the elves, a male with dark hair, smiled. "And there are four of them. I understand." The elf handed a full wooden plate to the shockshooter. "Enjo-"

Melkris tossed his helmet aside and set in with all the manners of an animal. Kiphoris grabbed him by the neck, jostling him, and pulled his face away from the plate. "Melkris!"

The shockshooter looked around at the many disturbed faces with something akin to guilt. "Ah... _Zes'bas_." He turned to the elf. "Th... Then-kyo."

Kiphoris briefly closed all his eyes and let go. Guilt forgotten, Melkris dove back in. "As I said, a fool."

Normality returned. Melkris was denied, by Kiphoris, further opportunities to embarrass himself. There was no need for them to gorge themselves. Obleker had ether enough for all three of them.

"We have never seen anything like you before," the male elf openly looked Kiphoris over with wonder and intrigue. "Who... who are you?"

Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. "You are not the only people to wonder. The dwarves asked the same. I am Kiphoris the Dreamer, Captain of the Scar House. That," he pointed at the Splicer, "is Javek the Technician, and that," to the shockhooter, "is Melkris the Sharp-Eyed. We are Eliksni. We come from a... distant place."

"This is incredible."

"You compliment us," Kiphoris dipped his head. "So we must do the same. You are most gracious hosts."

The elves' inquisitiveness didn't end there. "Ah, but what is he? And what is that?"

"That is Kida. Nothing more than a construct. A servant built from metal. And that is Obleker, our sacred Servitor."

Obleker hummed a greeting. The elves stared at it with brilliant smiles.

Orik cleared his throat. "Might I trouble you for your names, master elf?"

The male elf nodded graciously. They were just like Arya and Formora - every movement they made was elegant and quick. "I am Lifaen of House Rílvenar. And my companions are Edurna, Celdin, and Narí."

House Rílvenar. Kiphoris closed his inner eyes and tilted his head. It stuck in his head, for some reason. It sounded... familiar.

All it took to remind him was to glance in Formora's direction. She stood still and tense with alarm.

It was her noble house. Her helmet did well to hide away the shock she must have been feeling.

Kiphoris quickly averted his gaze. His thoughts whirled and jumbled around the discovery. The journey to Ellesméra had just grown all the more dangerous.

The dwarves introduced themselves. Eragon and Saphira made their greetings after that, and then it was Ikharos's turn.

"Who are you?" Lifaen asked pleasantly.

Ikharos allowed for a lazy half-smile. "Tired, that's what."

Kiphoris groaned loudly. "Do not exaggerate. Our trek was not taxing. You sat around for most of it."

"Well, maybe I sat in a bad position."

"You merely do not want to speak to anyone."

"Dammit. You caught me out." The half-smile had become a full grin. Ikharos turned back to Lifaen. "Ikharos Torstil, Warlock, Shadeslayer, Aphelionbane." He held out his hand.

Lifaen took it gingerly, his expression mirroring that of Ikharos. It seemed the elves of the forest were capable of more patience than their counterparts who traveled outside. Or perhaps Arya and Formora were as serious as they were because of overexposure to the other human races.

"You are a Shadeslayer?" Narí inquired. His smile, unlike Lifaen's, was halting and marred by disbelief.

"Aye," Thorv grunted. "He slew Durza in Tronjheim, and thus saved the city."

The elves cheered. Kiphoris was not surprised by the sudden show of joy. Shades were vile creatures, in both concept and physical manifestation.

If he had the power to, he would kill them all.

* * *

Eliksni and humans were so vastly different that their cooperation should have been impossible. Yet, Kiphoris discovered that those differences stopped at communication. The ability to talk and convey information was the solution to every problem. The only difficulty lay in conveying that information.

Humans expressed emotion differently. Their faces were unlike that of Eliksni. They had malleable skin and flesh, and watching their expressions morph was always fascinating. They did not communicate with their eyes to the degree that Eliksni did, and they had no mandibles to speak of, but they made do.

Even so, his time among the Awoken had taught him that humans weren't entirely subject to the same involuntary tells of emotion as his people.

"I remember you."

Kiphoris sat against Saphira's flank. The wind-daughter was half-asleep, and she hummed as he scratched her head behind her horns. The dragon was half again the size she had been when he first met her, but little had changed personality-wise. Smarter, perhaps. More experienced, of course. Her temper hadn't changed, though. And her patience was still disturbingly low. Like Ikharos.

His comfortable position against the dragon allowed him a great view over those by the fire. The perfect place to watch drama unfold.

"Me?" Ikharos looked at Eragon with obvious confusion. "I should hope so. We have been traveling together for over a week now."

Saphira snorted. " _That's not what he meant, rude-man._ "

Kiphoris closed his outer eyes in silent laughter.

"Alright, I'm all ears." Ikharos leaned back. "How do you remember me?"

Eragon paused. "You were at Carvahall."

"Carva... Oh yeah. That northernish village. Yeah, I was there. Were you?"

"I lived in Carvahall. I was there when you argued with two Imperial traders."

"You..." Ikharos frowned. "You were the lad pissing off Bolver and Kranti."

Eragon's cheeks reddened. "Er... yes. I was."

"It's a small world. Funny how that worked out."

"I had no idea you were a wizard then."

"You were right. And I'm not a wizard now either. I really, _really_ , dislike that term."

"You would rather be called Risen?" Arya said quietly. It was more a statement than a question, and meant to draw out information. Which it did. To some degree. The chatter of the elves and dwarves fell away. Even Melkris, who had been happily yapping away to a very confused Dûthmér, went silent. He was a fool, but only intentionally so. He knew how to read the room.

Ikharos nodded slowly, his eyes narrowed. "The same way I wouldn't call you a magician. I'd simply say elf."

"You are not human, are you?"

"What gave that away?"

Arya had a cold look to her. Kiphoris could almost feel the high-spirits that previously permeated the night drain away. "You move too fast. You wield magic unlike anyone else. You killed Durza."

"I thought I explained this to you already."

"You likened yourself to a Shade."

A tense pause stretched out. "That's because," Ikharos said with careful consideration, "Shades are an imitation of my kind. They're designed to emulate what the function of our existence."

"But what _are_ you? And do not make a joke of the question."

"Want me to say it here?" Ikharos challenged. "Really? In front of everyone?"

Arya didn't say a thing. Kiphoris could tell that it only further infuriated Ikharos.

"Suit yourself. Risen. I'm of the Risen. We're not Shades, we're not human, we're... something else."

"Yet you appear human."

"Elves look human," Kiphoris muttered. Ikharos threw him a grateful nod

"That's the framework. I'm the result of Light fusing what used to be a flesh-and-blood person. In your ancient language, you might call us..." He glanced at Formora, as if to confirm something. " _Dauthné_."

The concept was there, but not the meaning. Kiphoris did not understand. Not completely. Neither did his Eliksni or the dwarves. But Saphira stiffened and stopped her humming. Eragon flinched. And the elves... They looked both insulted and very, very nervous.

" _Dauthné_?" Arya repeated. Her brow was furrowed with confusion. "Deathless?"

"That's it."

"You... call yourself deathless?"

Ikharos nodded grimly. "I do. Because, by all causal conventional means, it's what I am. My flesh might be destroyed, but my life or my soul, whichever you prefer to call it, will not be. And it will return to flesh reforged in Light. If you drew a knife across my neck and allowed me to bleed out, I'd come back. And I'd probably be pissed off."

"... That is ridiculous."

Ikharos turned his gaze to the fire. His expression had melted into one of indifference. It was unnerving. "Suit yourself."

**000**

The wind tossed sand up into their eyes in a vain hope to blind them. It mattered not. They had prepared accordingly, with thin cloths tied around their heads to guard their vision. Tellesa glanced to the side - Maranthas was keeping pace. They had their prey trapped, and the slavers didn't even know it.

Grieg's bands of kidnappers had been an issue for the Varden for a time now, and if they were around when the caravans of people were on the move, they could have caused irreparable damage. The solution to the problem was simple: run them down.

Tellesa's outriders were one of many units assigned to the task. Her commander, a man by the name of Parzald, had devised a cunning plan. She and Maranthas were to flush the slavers out. Even if they were outnumbered, the sight of soldiers equipped with proper arms and armour was enough to make any foe of the Varden think twice before engaging.

Hence why the slavers were on the run. It was the second band of miscreants they'd found - and they weren't any wiser than the first.

Tellesa held her course. The slavers rode ahead, desperate and fearful, right into the open Hadarac. She pressed a button on the strange device tied to her belt.

The Eliksni Skiff uncloaked, soared ahead, and killed all of the slavers with a burst of crackling lightning bolts.

Tellesa slowed her steed to a canter. Maranthas stopped beside her. He was a grizzled fellow in charge of another squadron. He offered her a nod and cheery smile. "That's another one!"

"So it is!" She called back. The desert wind howled past them, making every word difficult to make out. She jutted a thumb back the way they had come from. "I'll need to report this!"

He nodded and, with his group, stayed behind to comb through the corpses. The Skiff overhead turned about and retreated to the mountain valley. Tellesa watched it all the way back. She would never get bored of the sight of the flying construct.

* * *

The forward camp was full of noise and life. Soldiers milled about, doing whatever needed to be done. The smell of stews and spices filled the air. Tellesa breathed it in as she picketed her horse. She looked forward to snagging a bowl of whatever the camp cooks had put together.

Her soldiers followed her in. Her soldiers. She never would have imagined it possible, even after all that had happened. The surprise of it all hadn't yet left her, but she hadn't let it stop her from doing her job to the best of her ability. In some ways, she was glad for those she had with her. Most of them had quickly accepted both her and Murtagh's addition and worked with them. Only Honsel had trouble with them, but given that he was alone in it, there wasn't much he could do other than grumble and carry out her orders to the basic minimum.

She motioned for her followers to rejoin the rest of the scouts by the cooking fires, then continued on to the command tent. Three figures were inside - Sir Parzald, who commanded all the outrider divisions, Fendrel, who was his second and replacement if he were indisposed, and Paltis. They pored over a large, detailed map of the Beors. They glanced up as Tellesa entered, but quickly resumed their discussion.

Paltis tapped a place northwest of their position. "Palka here."

"It's widely exposed," Fendrel muttered. "If Grieg has archers in place-"

Paltis chuckled. "Not ex- _po'ezed_ for Eliksni. Palkra have Skiffs."

"How many?"

"Three. And Pikes. Many Pikes."

"What good will pikes be against archers?"

Paltis chuckled again. " _Nama_. Diff- _ar_ -ent. Like Skiff."

"So they'll be secured? We won't need to escort them to safety?"

" _Nama_ , they fight good."

"We'll hold you to that." Parzald looked up. "Tellesa. What do you have for me?"

She stood to attention, hands clasped behind her back. "The slavers we encountered are taken care of. We trapped them for Calzan. None survived."

"That's good to hear. And of yours? Any casualties?"

"None, sir."

"Are your people rested?"

"They've only just arrived, but they won't need long."

"Is that so?" Parzald raised an eyebrow. "You'll have a chance to prove that. Paltis here has reported that Captain Palkra of the Scars will arrive at Tjana's Ford. If they have Skiffs, and I am told they do, then we'll clean up these slaver scum in little time. How is your Eliksni?"

Tellesa hesitated. "Lacking. I don't know more than a handful of phrases."

Parzald winced. "Then you have more than anyone else. Your orders are to meet with this Captain, attempt to make the situation clear, and work with him where needed. Paltis will be accompanying you. Shall I repeat?"

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Get going; we don't want to keep our allies waiting."

* * *

The moment they were free of the tent, Paltis pulled her in for an embrace. Tellesa hugged back tightly.

"How fare?" Paltis asked in a low voice.

"I'm doing well." Tellesa disengaged and smiled. She worriedly searched Paltis's eyes, but reading Eliksni was still a difficult process. "What about you?"

Paltis hesitated. "Some good, some bad," she decided. "Miss... Alkris."

"So do I." Tellesa paused. "I mean, I miss him, but I can't presume to-"

"Speak much."

"Sorry."

"No anger." Paltis started walking. Tellesa rushed to catch up. "We meet Palkra."

"What's he like?"

"Big. Bigger Kiphoris. Strong. Great fighter. Very loud."

Tellesa had a difficult time imagining an Eliksni larger than Kiphoris. The Captain she knew was already of similar size as Kull. "Is he... agreeable? Easy to work with?"

"Palkra loud. But know allies. No trouble. Hope."

Tellesa gathered her riders, grumbling and complaining as they were, and had them mount up. Paltis waited for them by the edge of camp. The Eliksni nodded to them and set off at a speed no human could reach. Tellesa and her outriders galloped after her.

* * *

Tjana's Ford was little more than a gurgling brook over a bed of sandy sediment. Unlike most valleys within the boundaries of the Beors, though, it had the space for more than a few Eliksni Skiffs to land. The forest receded and left in its wake a grassy plain veined with streams of fresh meltwater. There was little cover for miles around. Nowhere for Grieg's slavers to mount an ambush even if they did know the Eliksni were coming.

Tellesa, Paltis, Murtagh, and the scouts waited for an hour or so before the low crackling hum of cloaked Skiffs reached them. The moment it did, however, they lurched to and stood to attention.

Four Skiffs uncloaked at once. Three of them made to land while the fourth stayed up in the air, likely to cover them. Strange objects were attached to the back of each vessel, unlike Calzan's Skiff, and all the Skiffs that landed quickly dropped them. The strange objects didn't fall completely, however; they stopped in midair and floated just above the grass-covered earth.

"Pikes," Paltis pointed them out.

Tellesa scrutinized them, but she couldn't decipher their function. They were shaped so oddly. While they had three pointed fins towards the back, none were sharp enough to be used as a weapon. "What are they for?"

"Move fast," Paltis explained. "Like horse. Faster."

Hatches opened and Eliksni streamed out, barking and shaking weapons. There were far more soldiers per Skiff than there had been in Calzan's when he and Kiphoris arrived at Farthen Dûr. Most were similar to what Paltis's friend Melkris had looked like, but a small handful were cloaked and hooded like her.

One of them, whom Tellesa instantly knew was Palkra, had heavier armour for his larger frame just like Kiphoris. There was a marked difference between the two, though. Palkra was certainly bigger. Not all that much taller, but thicker of limb and torso. He made giant Kiphoris look as lithe as an elf in comparison. And his helmet was different. Whereas Kiphoris had two proud wings, Palkra had a single pointed spire-like crest on the back of his helmet. The helmet appeared overall more streamlined. Quicker. Which contrasted immensely with his physical bulk.

"Paltis!" He roared. His voice was loud. Very loud. Tellesa already missed Kiphoris's softer, more considerate tone.

Paltis stood rigid in place. She bowed her head, held out her lower arms, and chittered rapidly. " _Palkra-Veskirisk_!" She gestured to the humans. " _Varden-En'ha_! _Tellesa... ne ze-Kelekhira_!"

Palkra tilted his head. His four eyes blinked at once. " _Ze-Kelekhira_?"

" _Eia. Shas hus_ _._ "

"... _Ne ra kle_." Palkra strode forward, lower hands resting on the hilts of his swords. He offered an upper arm and clasped her forearm tightly. Tellesa forced a smile. He could have broken her bones if he pressed any tighter; he was as strong as a dragon.

"Welcome, Palkra," she greeted in what she hoped would be perceived as a pleasant tone. Paltis translated for her. "I have been sent on behalf of Lady Nasuada of the Varden and Sir Parzald of the second banner. Thank you for..."

**000**

The conversation drifted away to other topics, but from all the glances he received, he knew that what had happened wouldn't be so easily forgotten.

" _Well, that was..._ " Xiān hesitated. " _... something_ ," she finished lamely.

" _I... may have... overreacted_." Ikharos sighed.

" _You let loose the big bad secret._ "

" _I'm sick of all this no-trust bullshit._ "

" _To be fair, we don't exactly trusting these people back. Not completely._ "

" _You should be the one talking. Not me. I don't know how to do this._ "

Xiān chortled. " _You're reminding me of... what was it... oh yeah! A children's movie. There was a mouse, or shrew or something pulling a guy's hair like a steering wheel._ "

" _You're not pulling my hair._ "

" _Nah, I'd go for your stupid beard._ "

" _It's not stupid._ "

" _It's everywhere. You need to brush it._ "

" _Haven't had a chance yet. It's not my fault. We just don't the right facilities_."

" _Is that where we're headed after? The Scar camp? Because they're the only ones with the facilities to house us._ "

" _No. After this, we're going straight to Scipio. He knew about the Morgan, Hezran, and all the rest. He's going to give us the answers we need._ "

" _Ooh, fighting talk. You do realize the guy you're angry with is a Warmind? As in, one of the most dangerous weapons ever created by mankind? If we're going in swinging, I don't rate our chances very high._ "

" _I won't start a fight with him. I only need answers._ "

" _And if he doesn't give you those answers?_ "

" _Oh, I'll get them._ "

" _So we_ are _going in swinging?_ "

" _No. I don't need to hurt him. Just threaten. He's a hyperintelligent AI. He'll know it's better to work with me than make me an enemy._ "

* * *

Night fell. Excitement couldn't stave off exhaustion, and they were indeed exhausted. While the journey to the forest wasn't quite as taxing as it could have been, as Kiphoris had so eloquently pointed out, the dwarves - as well as the honourary dwarf, Eragon - were too tired not to sleep.

Ikharos too might have given into slumber if Formora hadn't drawn him away. As they were prone to, they walked some distance from camp and to the edge of Du Weldenvarden, where they could freely look upon the vast grassy plains to the south. The moon was full and bright, casting everything in a dim silver hue.

"I-" He began, but Formora shushed him. Her mind reached out to his.

" _It would be to our advantage to not speak out loud. My people are sharp of hearing and endlessly curious._ "

" _As I've discovered_ ," Ikharos agreed. " _So many questions. You never asked so much._ "

" _You killed Enduriel just before we talked. I was under the impression that if I tested your patience, violence would ensue._ " Formora exhaled slowly, quietly. It came out as little more than a low hiss. " _And these welden älfya are young and eager and inquisitive, and you've just shown them another world._ "

" _I was overly hasty, I know._ "

" _We should have accounted for that. I cannot expect you to turn into a politician overnight. That is not where your expertise lies, is it?_ "

He allowed himself a smile. " _You know it's not. What's done is done. Any idea how we swing this our way?_ "

" _Follow Kiphoris's lead. Make it appear as if you and he are aligned._ "

" _Which we are._ "

" _Make it more obvious. Emphasize the alliance where possible. It will give him another tool with which to press his case._ "

" _And you?_ "

Formora didn't immediately reply, but her mind was still connected to his. After a while, she said, "I shouldn't be here. My presence is too dangerous. It could jeopardize all we seek to gain."

" _We've been through this. As long as they hear the-_ "

" _Lifaen is a relative of mine. His grandmother was Alenya, who was cousin to my father, Káslidn._ "

" _He's... oh._ " Ikharos looked down, deep in thought. " _But I thought... I thought your family was gone?_ "

" _My immediate family. My mother was slain by Glaerun, of the Wyrdfell. Kialandí... fell to madness and took his own life. During the last days of Galbatorix's initial rebellion, I received word that my father…_ " She looked away. " _All that remains are distant branches of House Rílvenar._ "

Ikharos peered at her helmet in an attempt tory to glean something, anything, but it was in vain. He couldn't see a thing past the visor. " _And... how do you feel about Lifaen's presence?_ "

" _It only increases the danger. I can't imagine he would be pleased to learn of my survival. Or my presence in Du Weldenvarden._ "

" _He's your family._ "

" _No. He's my kin, yes, but not my family. I don't know him. We share a noble lineage, and only barely. If nothing else, my arrival would jeopardize his own family's standing. I have a stronger claim to the Rílvenar name than they._ "

" _So this is cutthroat stuff?_ "

" _Murder is too hefty a crime for a long-lived race as we. No throats are cut in elven politics. But that isn't to say it's a pleasant, peaceful affair. Nor are we above the petty vices that plague the other races. There are those of us who desire power, even if my people deny it. Let the other Forsworn, those who joined of their own volition, stand as proof._ "

" _That's tough... I probably sound like a broken record, but if it isn't clear enough, I am here to be on your side. If you ever need to talk, I'm open to it, though I'm certainly not the right person to come to for a solution. Kiphoris would serve you better on that front. He seems a bit more sensible where all this - politics and family - is concerned._ "

" _I appreciate your offer all the same._ " She gave him what he thought was a funny look. " _I've learned something._ "

" _Oh?_ "

" _You are... remarkably patient with those you consider your... what's the word?_ "

Ikharos smiled. " _Gang? Crew? Pack? Fireteam?_ " His smile disappeared. " _Holy crap. This is my Fireteam._ "

" _Is... that a problem?_ "

" _There's a Fallen Captain in my Fireteam._ "

" _I thought you weren't allowed to use that word?_ "

Ikharos rolled his eyes. " _Sorry, there's an_ Eliksni _Captain in my Fireteam_." He rubbed his temples. " _Traveler above..._ "

" _And yet you two have behaved well around one another. How admirable._ " A warm flush of amusement came from the other end of the mental connection.

Exasperated, Ikharos strolled from the treeline and onto the plains. " _Laugh all you want, but keep in mind that everything about this, us, is nothing short of miraculous. We are an odd bunch. The oddest._ "

" _That we are._ "

" _But it works. We've survived so far._ "

" _It does, and we have._ "

" _Wonder how long that's going to last..._ "

" _You don't think we'll live through this?_ "

" _All of us? I doubt it. Especially not me._ "

" _Ah, but you would come back._ "

" _Not if my killers pack the right weaponry. And I imagine our enemies- Nezarec's bunch at the very least - are stockpiling tools capable of snuffing out a Light. I would if I were them._ "

" _Why would they focus so much on you?_ "

" _I'm a threat to them. Not just as an opposing soldier. My Light is an affront to their Dark. They'll swarm me like moths to a flame. It doesn't matter how many of them burn up in the process, as long as the flame is smothered. It's their safest option._ "

" _So... then you keep quiet. Stay unnoticed._ "

" _Easier said than done. I have to use my Light to fight. And if not Nezarec's cult, then the Cabal, and Galbatorix's empire, and Krinok's Scars could get me._ "

" _Doesn't that scare you?_ "

" _Fear is a bodily instinct designed to increase odds of survival. It's useful sometimes. But not always. If the fear is useless, it deserves only to be ignored. I was terrified when I fought Oryx. I was terrified when I fought Riven. I was terrified when I fought the Aphelion. But I couldn't let fear rule me. Fear is the surest of killers in a war that depends on bravery. So does this scare me? Sure. Yes. The thought of a Shade driving a Dark-infused knife, like the one I have here_ ," he dangled the dirk between two fingers, " _through my heart will probably haunt me for the duration of my stay on this world, but I can't let it distract me._ "

" _That's brave._ "

Ikharos shook his head. " _No. Just disdain. So, do you need to eat or... are we just out here to chat?_ "

" _The latter. I've partaken of a meal earlier. When Javek and I were working on spells._ "

" _What were you teaching him?_ "

" _How to throw a stone with force. How to start a flame._ "

" _Ah yes, the essentials._ "

" _And how to mend lesser wounds._ "

" _No one ever died of a skinned knee, so... not quite as essential._ "

" _It's the basics. You would know if-_ "

Ikharos clapped his hands together. " _Speaking of magic! Can... you, uh, teach me how to speak magic? Fluently?_ "

Formora groaned. " _That would take time._ "

" _We have time. We're not in Ellesméra yet._ "

" _... You're right. You should be able to hold your own when questioned in the ancient language. And my people will question you._ "

" _Thanks for the vote of confidence._ "

" _You're welcome._ " Formora glanced back the way they came. " _Let's begin with... dauthné._ "

" _Deathless, right?_ "

" _Not exactly. Through a direct translation, it comes very close. It translates as 'death-no', but the word stands for something else. Rather, the meaning stems from the word dauthleikr, which means 'mortal.' Dauthné is, in truth, 'the refusal of mortality.' It's a concept not of an immortal or deity, but of something that does not allow death to be an obstacle._ "

" _Doesn't that and deathless mean the same thing?_ "

" _Deathless is to be without an end. Dauthné is to circumvent death - but that does not mean an end does not await._ "

Ikharos frowned. " _That fits far too well._ "

" _It does, doesn't it? Perhaps your people had something to do with that._ "

" _Getting conspiratorial, are we? No. They didn't live long enough to chat with your folk._ "

" _One might have._ "

" _You mean the journal's last entry? Maybe. But if any lived long enough, they would have to have kept quiet throughout the years. No contact, even with elves._ "

" _You truly don't think any survived?_ "

" _Not a chance._ "

" _That's a grim outlook to hold to._ "

" _It's our lot in life_ ," Ikharos retorted. " _We aren't like your people. The world doesn't offer us all we desire on a silver platter. We are the butchers of physics and the breakers of fate, and as a result we're wanted dead by a primordial force of the universe. It isn't nice, but reality seldom is._ "

" _Don't you ever begrudge the Traveler for forcing all this on you?_ "

" _Of course. Every Risen does, at one point or another. But the only thing we can do is accept that there's a target painted on our backs and carry on._ " He knelt down and tried to place the constellations high above. It was always a spark of joy when he recognized a familiar star. " _Let's get back to the ancient language._ "

" _Let's._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue!


	44. Nymph

"Another three squads. Another three. Lost. More carriers for this plague. We can't keep going. There's no time left. We need to find the source and cut it out."

Tlac agreed. Reluctantly. He loathed direct action. It stank of desperation. But they _were_ desperate. The poison was spreading. They were losing too many soldiers. "We need to locate where the infected keep their contraband," he began, "and burn it. All of it."

Some of the officers present shuffled nervously. Val Dhavac raised a fist. "They'll fight it," he said, beady eyes narrowed. "If they reckon we're after them, they'll butcher us."

Val Zu'uk propped his shield against the wall and leaned against it. "We could hit them first."

"And lose the rest of the Worldbreakers?" Tlac challenged. "We wouldn't survive that either."

Cadon, who sat in the corner of the room cleaning an antique pistol, said, "That's all well and good, planning out a fight, but that line of thinking is suicide no matter which way we go about it."

"Do you have something for us, Weaver?" Valus Meruv demanded. "Or are you going to keep us waiting all cycle?"

"Now that you mention it, I might just-"

"Cadon," Zhonoch said. The Vigilant's voice was low and raspy, barely audible, but the entire room went quiet. "Say whatever you have to say or shut your trap."

" _Don't cross him_ ," Tlac advised him. " _He's overworked and low on patience._ "

Cadon put his weapon aside and stood up. "We don't need to fight. We just need to reach the contraband. Let's start with where it is. Well?"

Dhavac scratched his neck. "It could be anywhere. What if they're just using blood samples?"

"Their own? No. Too many transfusions would dilute the infection. We would have seen signs of that. Not blood."

"So they're using genuine Wormhusk? That's difficult to hide."

"And where would we find it?"

Dhavac grunted. "I don't know. Why me?! Ask one these blighters." He pointed at Zu'uk. The Phalanx commander blinked rapidly.

"Me?!" He said, startled. "I don't know!"

Cadon sighed. "This isn't an accusation. We're all cleared. I'm trying to draw out your creative ability. More fool me. Uluru can't see anywhere but straight ahead. It's a wonder-"

"By Acrius's gleam, get to the blasted point!" Zhonoch bellowed.

"It must be-"

The bunker's door clanged open. Neuroc stiffly strode in, two datapads in hand. She silently tossed it onto the desk. Zhonoch frowned and picked them up. "And what are these?" He demanded.

Neuroc didn't even blink. "Cargo manifests. That one," she nodded to the one in his left hand, "was what I was supplied. It's the official record. The other is what Specialist Neirim managed to snag from Valus Re'eir's office."

Zhonoch read through them. His gathered officers waited with bated breath. Finally, he lifted his eyes and said, "Cargo Bay-AH13 and Cargo Bay-AH14 have been reserved for... what?"

"Four hundred CASPs."

"CASPs?" Tlac tilted his head. "Cryogenic Animated Suspension Pods? But why would they..." His single eye widened as realization hit. "They're growing their own Worm farms."

Neuroc dipped her head. "Possibly. Likely. These containers are reserved for transporting living organisms, most usually exotic off-world wildlife for the Imperial arenas. But they shouldn't be here."

"Then we have it!" Zu'uk crowed. "We know where their contraband is!"

"In the cargo hold of the Magnus Vae." Neuroc share his enthusiasm.

Cadon smiled tightly. "I knew it."

Tlac shot him a funny look. " _You really didn't._ "

"The cargo hold... is where the Worldbreakers keep their equipment," Dhavac thought aloud. "They aren't going to let us have a look inside. Not without good reason."

"Are you sure?" Cadon challenged. "It doesn't have to be an entire contingent of us."

"It does if we want to get through the blast doors."

"You're forgetting something."

"What's that, Weaver?"

"We have a contact in the Worldbreakers. Neuroc can get us in."

All eyes turned to her. She flashed Cadon an irritated look. "It's possible, but it won't be simple. Especially if we're carrying explosives."

Zhonoch growled. "Will you or will you not?"

"... I will. But we can't go in looking like we're about to enter a battlefield. I'll send Neirim to you later. He'll collect your explosives."

"I want to be there," Zhonoch told her. "I want to see these farms for myself, before we destroy them. And evidence. We need evidence to single out the infected."

"As you wish."

**000**

The scent of flowers was heavy in the air when Eragon woke to behold a sun-drenched Du Weldenvarden. Above him arched a mottled canopy of drifting leaves, supported by the thick trunks that buried themselves in the dry, bare ground. Only moss, lichen, and a few low shrubs survived in the pervasive green shade. The scarcity of underbrush made it possible to see for great distances between the knotted pillars and to walk about freely beneath the dappled ceiling.

Rolling to his feet, Eragon found Thorv and his guards packed and ready to leave. Ikharos was with them, rolling a flame in his gloved, clawed hand and speaking in a voice no louder than a murmur. Finally, Thorv bowed and said, "Of course, Shadeslayer."

 _Deathless!_ Of all the wild things Eragon had heard, that was perhaps the wildest. And the man it came from was a man he'd previously assumed to be firmly grounded in reality. To hear such a thing from him was startling. It led him to doubt a great many things - not least that Ikharos was being truthful at all.

Eragon approached them and said, to the dwarves, "Thank you, all of you, for protecting me and Saphira. Please convey our gratitude to Ûndin."

Thorv pressed his fist to his chest. "I will carry your words." He hesitated and looked back at the huts. "Elves are a queer race, full of light and dark. In the morning, they drink with you; in the evening, they stab you. Keep your back to a wall, Argetlam. You as well, Shadeslayer."

"I will remember that," Eragon promised uneasily.

Ikharos just snorted, as if it were the funniest joke he'd heard yet. "I'd like to see how far they get."

"Mmm." Thorv hesitated, then gestured toward the river. "They plan to travel up Eldor Lake in boats. What will you do with your horse, master Rider? We could return him to Tarnag with us, and from there, to Tronjheim."

"Boats!" Eragon cried with dismay. He had always planned to bring Snowfire to Ellesméra. It was convenient to have a horse whenever Saphira was away, or in places too confined for her bulk. He fingered the sparse bristles along his jaw. "That is a kind offer. Will you make sure Snowfire is well cared for? I couldn't bear it if anything were to happen to him."

"On mine honor," Thorv pledged, "you will return to find him fat and sleek."

Eragon fetched Snowfire and transferred the stallion, his saddle, and his grooming supplies into Thorv's care. He bade each of the warriors farewell, then he, Saphira, Ikharos and Orik watched the dwarves ride back along the trail they had arrived on.

"They weren't chatty," Ikharos muttered, "but their presence was welcome all the same. No puzzles, no difficulties. Now we're to dance with words every night we settle down for rest."

"I envy them," Orik agreed. "But we have a duty to perform, have we not?"

Ikharos nodded after a moment. "I suppose so. It doesn't mean we'll enjoy it. But... I guess there's worse places to be."

"Is that how you justify your bad mood?" Zeshus suddenly said. Eragon shivered. Her voice was just so strange, flanged and echoed as it was. She stepped up beside Ikharos, her face still obscured by her helmet. He couldn't comprehend how she could see out of the black glass. Her dedication to the mask was nothing short of commendable.

Ikharos shrugged. "I'll use whatever I have at my disposal."

"Practical."

"Exactly."

They both just stood there, one wearing an unreadable expression and the other concealed, and watched the dwarves shrink from view. Both wore unusual armour, carried unusual weapons, and spoke of unusual things.

Curiosity drove Eragon to ask, "Are you truly deathless?"

Ikharos's grey eyes found his. It was then that Eragon's doubt buckled. The wizard was like the elves - he looked to be in his prime, but there was something about him that was impossibly old. His eyes especially. They looked out into the world and found it wanting.

"There is an end for all things," Ikharos said in voice so grave that Eragon believed him completely. "Even gods. Don't mistake me, I'm not a god. But neither am I mortal. I'm somewhere in between." He paused and turned his gaze back upon the plains. "Or maybe I'm on a separate plane entirely."

"How old are you?"

"Have a guess."

Eragon thought it over. "You admitted, in Tronjheim, to having lived over a century. Two hundred?"

Ikharos paused and tilted his head ever so slightly, as if to listen to someone whispering in his ear. "Close," he replied. "I'm three hundred and twenty-six years old."

Eragon frowned. "That's... not close at all."

"No." A wry smile found its way onto Ikharos's face. "I was just trying to spare your feelings."

Saphira snorted and Orik chuckled. Zeshus gave no indication of having heard. She stood as still as a statue, eternally vigilant. Eragon smiled hesitantly; he still wrestled with the outlandish concept. _Three hundred and twenty-six?_ That was a very, very long time.

"Are you like Ikharos?" Eragon asked her. "Are you a... Risen?"

Her helmet swiveled to face him. "No," she said softly in a smooth voice broken by metallic scratches. "I am not. I am bound to flesh and blood, as you are."

"But you are not human either."

A pause. "No," Zeshus admitted. "I am not."

"What-"

"But what I am is my business alone," she said curtly. "No one else's."

Eragon's cheeks heated up. "Apologies, I didn't-"

She turned around and walked away. Ikharos's smile fell. "Don't mind her," he said. "She's just... her." He hesitated, shrugged, and wandered off after Zeshus.

Eragon was left highly confused. " _What was that?_ "

Saphira grunted. " _I do not know. They are not very honest with us, are they?_ "

" _I suppose they have a right to privacy._ "

Orik shook his head and snorted. "What a strange man. Ah, but we are in a strange land now. Oh, how I wish I still had stone beneath my feet and over my head."

They returned to the camp, where they found a light-bluish gaseous substance trailing from Obleker like spindly limbs, reaching into the metal containers offered by the three Eliksni. The elves of Ceris stood nearby, watching it all unfold in muted amazement.

When the substance ran out, Kiphoris screw a lid onto his container and attached it to his armour, where it fed into the pipes that linked with his helmet. He noticed the spectators and blinked his outer eyes. "Ether," he explained. "Eliksni lifeblood." He tenderly placed a hand against Obleker's shell. "To you we owe our lives, our survival, and our faith. It is under your gaze mine-people flourish. Many thanks, noble and beautified Obleker. Your favour gifts us the future."

The eye-like entity hummed sonorously. The other Eliksni - Javek and Melkris - turned their palms toward the Servitor in a gesture that Eragon could only describe as reverent.

It was beyond simple adoration. It was worship.

Dwarves believed in gods. Humans believed in spirits. And Eliksni believed in the Servitor. Eragon's sight drifted over to the elves. What did they believe in?

" _Trees and flowers_ ," Saphira offered.

" _Is that belief? They respect the life around them... but do they truly worship it?_ "

" _Why would they? Perhaps they are like me. I have no need of belief in a higher power. I need only trust my wings and my limbs. And you._ "

When Kiphoris was finished, Lifaen led all who remained to the Edda River, where two long white canoes with vines carved along their sides waited by a boulder.

"There isn't much room," Ikharos remarked.

Javek stepped forward and gingerly slid a taloned finger along the wooden surface. " _Kir dras_. _Ta nan-_ "

Melkris tackled him, throwing them both into the water. The two resurfaced, both spluttering and one bellowing Eliksni obscenities. Saphira huffed with laughter.

Kiphoris furiously stalked over to them and effortlessly dragged them out. He shook Melkris violently. " _Psesiskar_! _Melkris pak Psesiskar_! _Ba'da, des ze-kas_!"

Melkris pulled his chin down to his collar and closed his eyes. He desperately tried to stifle his laughter. " _Eia_ , _kle-de_ , _kle de_!"

"Argh!" Kiphoris dropped them - Melkris none too gently - and backed away. " _Kelekh'i_..." He muttered. "Mine-crew are as children." He reluctantly tore his dark gaze from Melkris to the canoes. " _Ikha Riis_ is correct. There is little room."

"And too many of us," the self-styled Risen muttered.

Lifaen, smiling, nodded his agreement. "Then we shall sing another into form."

Kiphoris shook his head. "We should not dally. The more time I spend here is less I do with mine-people. We have wars to fight." He looked the vessels over. "They are too small for me. Javek and accursed Melkris are of right size, but not I. Inform me of your heading and I will make mine-own way."

Arya frowned. "What will you do?"

"I will run. I am fast, yes? You know this."

Arya shook her head. "This is..." She exhaled softly and met Kiphoris's eyes. "You cannot go alone."

"I do not think your forest will pose a danger to me."

"There are things here that are... unlike anything you've seen."

"And I am unlike anything they have seen. I am Eliksni! I am a warrior-noble, Wolf-Born and Scar-Lifted. I will not perish on the way." He shrugged. "And there is little other choice. I am too large for your vessels. You can see that."

" _I could carry you_ ," Saphira offered.

Kiphoris went quiet for a moment. "A kind offer, wind-daughter, but the skies are no safer. You are strong, _eia_ , and fearsome, but you are young. _Nama_ , I think that for me to walk would be safer for us all."

Saphira scoffed. " _There is nothing that can best me in flight_."

" _Nama_. There is. You have not yet encountered them. And if the Great Machine's favour is upon us, you never will."

A dozen questions formed in Eragon's mind, alongside the great many more that had accumulated ever since leaving Tronjheim. _What creatures could he mean? What is the Great Machine he speaks of? Another Servitor?_

Arya nodded grimly. "So be it. We seek to circumvent the Eddar Lake and enter the Gaena River. Do you need a map?"

" _Nama_. I will travel along the water's edge."

"Still, I cannot leave you to travel on your own."

"I will not. I shall take Melkris. And hammer discipline into him."

Arya ignored his reply. "Celdin, would you guide Kiphoris?"

The male elf bowed. "I shall, Arya Dröttningu." Celdin faced Kiphoris. "It would be an honour."

Kiphoris clicked his teeth together. "Lead on, little elf."

Celdin laughed and ran - faster than any human was capable of, appearing as if in a dance. Kiphoris barked at Melkris and took off after the elf, just as swift but without the same easy grace.

When they were gone, Eragon entered the first canoe. He was joined by Lifaen, Ikharos, and Javek. Arya, Orik, Narí, Kida, and Zeshus took the second. Arya turned to Edurna - who stood on the bank - and said, "Guard this way so that none may follow us, and tell no one of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. I will send reinforcements as soon as we reach Sílthrim."

"Yes, Arya Dröttningu."

"May the stars watch over you."

Bending forward, Narí and Lifaen drew spiked poles ten feet long from inside the boats and began propelling the vessels upstream. Saphira slid into the water behind them and clawed her way along the riverbed until they were level. When Eragon looked at her, she winked lazily, then submerged, forcing the river to swell into a mound over her jagged back. The elves laughed as she did so and made many compliments about her size and strength.

Obleker followed close behind, eerily silent and always watching. It flew over the water without a hitch. Not for the first time, Eragon wondered where the Eliksni found it. _Or did they make it? But why would they worship something they created?_

After an hour, they reached Eldor Lake, which was rough with small, jagged waves. Birds and flies swarmed by a wall of trees edging the western shore, while the eastern shore sloped up into the plains. On that side meandered hundreds of deer. There was no sight of Kiphoris, Melkris, or Celdin.

Once they escaped the river's current, Narí and Lifaen stowed their poles, then distributed leaf-bladed paddles. The former explained the process of steering a boat to Eragon. "We turn toward whichever side you paddle on," the elf said. "So if I paddle on the right and Javek paddles on the left, then you must paddle first on one side, then the other, else we will drift off course."

Eragon nodded to show his understanding. Lifaen's focus turned to Ikharos. "Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?"

The man was holding the paddle up with a distant look in his eyes. "... Sure."

"Forgive me, but I do not believe you," Lifaen said in a pleasant, cordial tone.

"I've just... realized I've never done this before. I know how it works, yeah, but I've never... I'm too old to have never canoed."

Eragon paused. _Three hundred and twenty-six... That's entire lifetimes. He_ is _old._

Lifaen smiled. "Have you never had cause to travel along a river?"

"Oh, I've done that plenty, but usually on Sparrow if I want to be quick or on foot if I want to be quiet."

"Sparrow? How would such a little bird hasten you?"

"Not that kind of Sparrow. What I mean is the machines my kind, Risen, use when we're roaming the wilderness. Or racing each other. I'm sure Eragon can tell you all about it."

Eragon frowned. "You mean... your screaming thing?"

"That's the one."

"It was," he hesitated, "fast. And loud."

"That's the point. Being fast, in any case. The loudness is just a byproduct, though some find it… appealing. Don't ask me why, I don't know."

"How do you carry it around?"

"Transmat."

"Kiphoris said much the same. What does it mean?"

Ikharos, who sat at the front, stilled for a moment. "Right, where do I... Our bodies are made up of tiny little things. Everything you see is made up of tiny little things you can't make out because they're so small. Do you understand so far?"

Eragon grew puzzled. "What kind of things?"

"Atoms, molecules, and pixies. So let's say that each of these has a purpose. What if... we could transform that purpose into pure information? The schematics of all those little things, enacting upon their objective to make up a bigger thing? Pure information is easier to carry around, if you have the correct equipment. And I do, so- No, shut up, no questions until afterwards."

Lifaen closed his mouth, dejected.

"Right," Ikharos continued, "so this information is carried around. Now, it's just information, not the actual matter that makes up, say, a rock. To return this information to corporeal form, it needs the moldable matter to conform to its purposes. That's where our old friend Glimmer comes in."

"Glimmer?" Eragon questioned. "What Kiphoris showed to Hrothgar?"

"Exactly. Glimmer is more valuable than gold. Than oil. Than... jam? I'm going to say jam. Your Alagaësia has a disturbing lack of jam."

"Very funny," Lifaen commented.

"Wasn't a joke. Back to Glimmer. It's... programmable matter. Can only be molded with the right equipment or the right know-how. Our Scar Captain, Kiphoris, might have those skills."

"Why?" Eragon asked.

"Because he's formerly of the Eliksni House of Wolves. The _Mraskilaasan_. In their tongue it means ' _gentle weavers_.' Before the Whirlwind took their home, his house was responsible for the cultivation of Glimmer. Hence why, even after their great exodus, they were one of the most powerful houses of them all. Certainly the largest. At least before Mara Sov, the Taken, and the Scorn got to them."

Eragon frowned. "House of... Wolves? Not House of Scar? How many Eliksni factions are there?"

Ikharos tilted his head. "Depends on what you might consider a house. We could start with the originals. The Great Houses of Riis go as follows: Kings, Judgement, Wolves, Devils, Scar, Stone, Rain, Winter, and Exile. Most of them are gone. Last I heard, a baroness by the name of Eramis was trying to revive the House of Devils back home. A majority of Eliksni now are with the House of Dusk or the House of Light. Or Spider's Syndicate, but that's no true house. It doesn't have the same hierarchy. Just a mob of cutthroats and smugglers."

"You seem to know a lot about the Eliksni," Eragon pointed out.

Ikharos shrugged. "I've known about them since the day I first rose to life, and have had plenty of exposure since."

"Are these houses noble families?" Lifaen asked curiously.

Ikharos shook his head. "More like nations. Traditional houses have a three-pronged leadership: the Kell, who commands in all military and political matters, and the Archon, who commands matters of faith and science, and the Prime Servitor, who commands the construction of lesser Servitors and the flow of ether. Both Prime Servitor and Archons defer to the Kell. Some houses, like Wolves, had multiple Archons and Prime Servitors."

"Ah, and these Servitors are Obleker's kin? He is a Servitor, correct?"

"They are, he is. They produce ether, which Eliksni feed upon to live and grow. Different ranks get differently-sized rations, which results in the disparity in size. That's why Kiphoris is larger than Javek here." The Splicer glanced around and chriped. Ikharos smiled. "Yeah, you."

"And who decides the portion size?" Lifaen continued. "What is to stop someone from hoarding?"

"The Elder Cipher. It's the key to a Kell's rule. Biometrically locked so only Kell or Archon can use it. The portions are decided by the Elder Cipher. An Eliksni's rank is recorded within, and so when it comes to feeding time, their Servitor will only allow them as much rations as they are permitted."

"How does one earn larger rations? Is it pre-determined by birth?"

Ikharos laughed. "Goodness no! No. The Eliksni work on a system of meritocratic aristocracy. Being born of noble blood doesn't get you far. No. Eliksni have to earn their way to a higher rank."

Eragon nodded along slowly, absorbing everything Ikharos said. "And what ranks are there?"

"There's many. At the bottom of the ladder are the _Wer'tra_ , the Wretches. They are... the gravely dishonoured. Their lower arms are severed and they are prohibited from wielding a firearm of any kind. All they have is a knife or a spear and enough sustenance to keep them barely alive and standing. Eliksni don't have prisons, and they can't waste anyone, so that is the fate that awaits their criminals. Next are the _Drekh_ , the Dregs. Again, docked of lower arms and low on food, but better off than Wretches. They are either the dishonoured, and yet capable of enough recognition to own a gun, or the unproven."

"That is..." Lifaen hesitated, "brutal."

"They lost their home and have been on the move ever since. They've been hunted across the centuries. You'd get mean too, if you were in their shoes." Ikharos paused to allow his point to sink in. "Next are the _Va'ha_ or Vandals. That's what Melkris is. He's provenhimself, has a stable supply of ether, and generally gets to live his life in acceptable conditions. This is also where it gets a little complicated. Javek's a Vandal too, but he's also a Splicer. The Splicers are the scientists, scholars, and priests of every house. They work under the direction of the Arch-Priests, who in turn take orders from the Archon.

"Vandals hold a higher rank than Dregs and Wretches, but altogether they are organized into crews to be commanded by the _Veskirisk_. The Captains, like Kiphoris. Captains are large, strong, and highly intelligent. Brute strengths no way to advance in Eliksni society. And our Wolf friend is very, very clever."

Eragon nodded. "And merciful. He had no reason to help Saphira or I, and yet he did."

"And yet he did," Ikharos echoed. "Merciful? Maybe. You'll change your mind as soon as you see him in a fight. He's... I'll get to that later. Alright, so above Captains are the Barons, the _Mrelliks_. They command their own crews, as well as the Captains sworn to them. Kiphoris's Baron is an _eliko_ by the name of Tarrhis. You might even meet him if all goes well."

"What's he like?"

"Very... traditional. And proud. He's dedicated himself to keeping his people alive here in Alagaësia, despite all that has befallen them."

" _He sounds interesting_ ," Saphira remarked. Eragon readily agreed.

Ikharos went on. "Above Barons are the Kells, whom I have told you about. They're comparable to your kings and queens. That's the basic structure of the Great Houses."

"Do the Scars have a Kell?"

"They do. I'm told it's a child - a hatchling. The last surviving heir of their last Kell. Which, yes, ignores the meritocratic system they have but Tarrhis is the acting regent so I doubt it will be an issue. For now, in any case."

The conversation lulled into a peaceful quiet as they drifted across the tranquil lake. Eragon soon mastered the ability of paddling, and as the motion became habitual, his mind was freed to daydream. His first thoughts were of the Eliksni, but when memories of Alkris came by, he quickly moved on. He hated the empty feeling of grief, hated how much of it had been piled onto him ever since leaving Carvahall. It was a hard weight to carry, but he hefted it all the same. What else could he do?

Then, inexplicably, Ikharos stiffened. It was subtle and Eragon wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been sitting behind the man for over an hour. The tensing of muscles and the way his head snapped straight ahead gave away his sudden alarm.

Quietly, whisper-soft, Ikharos said, "Eragon. Tell Arya... that you fear you may have forgotten something."

"What?" Eragon frowned. He quickly told Saphira what was happening. She surfaced nearby, still and attentive. Her eye was trained on Ikharos.

"Tell Arya that we have to pull over so you can search your bags."

"Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?" Lifaen asked. Eragon could hear the puzzlement in his voice. He was just as baffled.

"Yes. Eragon, do it. We need to beach."

" _Do it_ ," Saphira told him.

Eragon looked over to the other canoe. They were close enough that a simple shout would alert them. " _Why? What has him worried?_ "

" _I know not, but it would be foolish to dismiss him. If something is wrong, then we cannot run the risk of not heeding his warnings. It is better to be safe than sorry._ "

Eragon begrudgingly did so and passed on the fabricated message.

"Are you sure?" Arya called back.

"Say yes," Ikharos muttered.

"Yes!" Eragon called. He wanted to know what was amiss. "I am!"

There was a pause as Arya conferred with Narí. Then she pointed to a strand of land to their left. "We will land there!"

* * *

The canoes were light and the lake currents nonexistent, so making landfall was a simple affair. The banks were lined with a thick layer of soft silt, and it sloped gently into the water.

Once there, Ikharos disembarked and looked around. "Wait here," he ordered, and without waiting for an answer, he delved into the forest undergrowth.

Arya looked first at Eragon, then where Ikharos had gone. "What... is he doing?" She turned to Eragon. "No matter. Search for your souvenir."

He hesitated. "I don't-"

Lifaen answered for him. "That is not the case, Arya Dröttningnu. It was Ikharos who instructed him to say such."

"Why would he do that?"

"I profess that I do not know, but... he appeared unnerved."

Arya's face hardened. "He... Burzûl!"

Eragon flinched. He'd never heard Arya swear before. "Perhaps we should wait-"

She did not wait. Arya ran after Ikharos. Narí exchanged a simple glance with Lifaen and took off after her.

"No!" Zeshus called out, but they were already gone. She took a step in the same direction, then thought better of it. "Fools!"

"Do you know what's wrong?" Orik asked her.

"No, but... those fools! He... she..." Zeshus shook her head and angrily marched to her canoe. She reached in and procured a sword fitted into a sheath the colour of dark pine. A brown gemstone was fitted into the pommel and an unfamiliar rune was etched onto the sheath, just over the guard.

It was a Rider's blade. Just like Zar'roc.

"Where did you-" Eragon began, but she cut him off.

Zeshus looked around quickly. "If he had cause to suspect danger ahead, we must take his word for it. Arm yourselves, quickly!"

**000**

Kiphoris thundered through the brush. He exulted in the feeling of the wind whipping by. His eyes saw all: Celdin just ahead, Melkris to his right. A thousand unfamiliar scents assailed his senses. Animals, both distant and nearby, filled the forest with their noise.

It was wonderful. The forest was alive. He didn't think it would ever bore him. He was not old for Eliksni, only four hundred by Earth years, but only twice before had he set foot on a world that supported life, and then only briefly. Such planets were rare finds in a galaxy as dead as theirs.

"We could catch him!" Melkris grumbled.

Kiphoris didn't say anything for a long time. "This is no time for games, Melkris."

"I-"

"No. Listen to me. I am your Captain. And I have humoured you long enough. Rein yourself in. I do not wish to discipline you."

"I only want to-"

"No. We are beyond want. This may appear a grand adventure to you, but it could very well mean the difference between survival and extinction for our banner. Do not endanger that."

Melkris's voice fell. "I understand, mine-Captain. I apologize."

"I do not care for apologies, only that... Go on."

" _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ _?_ "

"Run on. Catch up with the elf. I will not be long." Kiphoris slowed his run. Melkris hesitated, then did as he was instructed. The sounds of the Vandal and elf receded, leaving Kiphoris surrounded by the natural noise of Du Weldenvarden.

He was not long in waiting for it to change. A small shape flitted down through the canopy high above and landed gracefully a few paces away.

Arke had changed once more. She was the silver Fanghur Ikharos had described, but now she was crowned with majestic antlers reaching back from her otherwise smooth head. Her leathery wings were coated in a covering of resplendent crystallic feathers. The sunshine broke apart into rainbows upon passing through them. Her body was thin and lithe, as opposed to the heavy musculature Saphira possessed.

Her eyes, bright gold, were full of mirth and craving. " _Velask_ ," she whispered.

"You are growing quickly," Kiphoris noted. Arke circled him once around. "Far too quickly."

"I feed on beasts," she hissed back. "No harm has been dealt to those considered sapient."

"Not even foes?"

"Not sapient foes."

Kiphoris closed his inner eyes. "Do you expect gratitude? For rushing to Saphira's aid?"

She only folded her wings against her body.

"Maybe _Ikha_ _Riis_ is right. Maybe this is too bold of me. I am no Awoken Queen. I am... not prepared. Not for you."

Arke stalked closer. More out of instinct than anything else, Kiphoris held out his hand. The little Ahamkara pressed her snout into his palm.

He couldn't begin to describe his feelings at that moment. Her scales were hard, but smooth to the touch. She was warm, as if there was a fire within her.

"Do you wish to be prepared?" She murmured.

Kiphoris reluctantly retracted his hand. "Stop. End these ceaseless temptations."

"I am temptation incarnate. You seek to erase me entirely?"

"Be something else."

"I can be anything. You only have to-"

"Wish it, _eia_ , I am aware."

Arke pulled away. She looked back the way they had come from and cocked her head to the side. A forked tongue flicked out from between her fangs. "Brethren," she said so casually that at first Kiphoris didn't pay it any mind. Her wings flew out. The little Fanghur bounded away and leapt into the air.

Kiphoris watched her go without the slightest inkling of understanding. "Brethren?" He repeated, baffled.

**000**

Singing. Ikharos heard- No, not heard. It was a feeling. He discerned a wave of pure potential slithering past his Light, like a thousand trickles stretching out in all directions from a central fountain. It was a trap: he knew that straight away. That was why he insisted on going alone.

Whoever set the trap likely weren't expecting a Warlock. He doubted they would be prepared.

He sped through the forest, paying his surroundings little mind. His attention was focused on his Light and what he could feel through it. The song he felt was full of sweet magic, but it wasn't elven. And that was enough to put him on guard.

As the power of the song increased, and he zeroed in on its source, words began to drift through the air. A true song, outfitted with true lyrics.

"O liquid temptress 'neath the azure sky,  
Your gilded expanse calls me, calls me."

He drew his cannon and slowed down. Something wasn't right, aside from the obvious. There was something insidious involved. Ikharos hesitated.

" _We're headed this way regardless_ ," Xiān pointed out. " _Only difference is whether we have a bunch of Lightless with us or not._ "

Ikharos steeled his resolve and pushed on.

"For I would sail ever on,  
Were it not for the elven maid,  
Who calls me, calls me."

The voice was melodic, like an elf, and yet... different. Formora's singing was like a call to the spirit within him. Beautiful through heartfelt love for the craft. The song he heard was different. It was stunning and melodic, no doubt about it, but there was a purpose to it. The song was beautiful because it was forced to be beautiful. Because beauty was part of the ulterior process.

His heart sank. He knew.

"She binds my heart with a lily-white tie,  
Never to be broken, save by the sea,  
Ever to be torn twixt the trees and the waves."

Ikharos broke through the treeline and found himself by the water's edge. Perched upon a rock jutting out of the lake, only a few feet in, was a woman. She wore a gown of threaded water-reeds and a veil of spidersilk. Her hair, black as coal and tinged with flame, cascaded down her neck and back. Beneath the veil, Ikharos could make out the hint of a smile. A smirk full of want.

He stopped by the water's edge and thumbed back the Lumina's hammer. "Who are you with? Nezarec or Gunther's Six?"

The not-woman giggled. "If ever there were a question to be asked! Ha! What is to be gained of serving He-Who-Sings-Wrong or those who-were-Six-now-Two?"

"Now two? Explain."

"Is there any call more noble than that of the flesh?" She held out her bare arms. Water dripped from her fingertips. "Embrace me, o listener mine. Fulfill your desire."

Ikharos didn't budge.

The woman didn't seem to care. She gently, gracefully, pushed away from the rock. It was then he saw the rest of her. Two avian wings were folded against her back. Below the waist she had, instead of legs, a huge, thick, eel-like tail with which she cut through the water and slithered onto the beach. The fish-flesh was dark and shiny with a layer of slime. It had to be twelve feet long, perhaps more, and riddled with powerful muscles.

She seemed to almost glide across the silt beach as the tail crawled after her. She loomed close, very close, too close, and then leaned back. Propelled by another giggle, she slid past him, behind him. She was boxing him in against the water. Ikharos didn't dare move. He reckoned he was still in control. As long as he handled her with care.

His rudimentary plan was turned upside down the moment he heard a surprised yell. Ikharos twirled around. What was... _Arya!_

The elf ran onto the clearing. Her expression morphed into one of horror as she beheld the Ahamkara. The not-woman snarled and threw herself towards the elf with a stroke of her heavy tail, her hands lengthening into gnarled talons.

"No!" Ikharos shouted. He raised his arm to fire, but something slammed into him, something big and heavy and full of teeth. He and his attacker tumbled across the beach. Ikharos bit his tongue and heaved out a yelp as jaws crunched down on his shoulder. He slammed his free hand into the side of the beast's long-snouted head with as much power as he could muster. It let loose a shrill scream and kicked him away, hard.

Ikharos didn't think twice. He rolled to his feet, spent a split-second getting his bearings, and pelted towards the not-woman, but she was already in retreat by then. Narí forced her back, warding her away with a leaf-bladed spear. Arya was on the ground, still alive and aware. Her arm was bleeding from a deep gash.

Ikharos swiveled around. The not-woman was still there, but the other creature - like a crocodile with long gangly legs ending in hooves and a mane of fur running down the back of its neck - made to follow.

"Dammit!" Ikharos ran after the elves and tossed a Voidwall down behind him. A barrier of indigo flames flared up. He hoped it would buy time. He heard the crocodilian beast bellow with rage and the not-woman shriek, but he had already moved onto other matters. " _We need something, anything, to hold them back!_ "

" _Energy barrier?_ " Xiān offered.

" _No. Won't work. Not with them. Something else._ "

" _Your bond!_ "

" _It's anti-acausal. Better. But not perfect._ " He pressed a hand full of Light onto his wounded shoulder. The bite-mark disappeared.

" _Sedia custom-built it for fighting Ahamkara._ "

" _Doesn't mean it's foolproof._ "

" _It's still the best we've got._ "

" _Waste of a good bond. It'll have to do. Those damn elves!_ "

Arya and Narí were faster than he was. They reached the others mere moments before he did. They stopped by the boats to catch their breath, and they made wild gestures towards the way they had come from. Chaos reigned; Orik was shouting, Saphira was growling, and Javek was chittering.

Ikharos slid to a stop, grabbed hold of his armlet, and summarily ripped it off. Glittering dust fell out of the shattered ring. He cupped a hand beneath to catch it all. When no more fell out, he rapidly began the process of scattering it on a loose circle around the beach.

"What are you doing?!" Formora quickly inquired.

"Witchcraft," he answered bluntly. "And that's no joke. Burn me at the stake later. For now, help me with this."

"How?"

"Keep everyone inside. They could arrive at any moment."

"'They?'"

Ikharos raised his head. "Ahamkara. Two of them. Maybe more, I didn't have time to find out."

"Psekisk," Formora hissed.

"I know. And tell Javek, if you can, to pass on a message to Kiphoris. He needs to stay away. Far away."

"I will." She raced off. He hoped the others would listen to her.

Arya replaced her, Narí and Eragon in tow. The Rider looked nothing but worried. The elves were frantic with fear. "What were those... things?!" Arya demanded sharply. Her injured arm was tightly bound over with a rag stained red.

Ikharos scowled. "Why couldn't you just stay here?"

"That's not-"

"Why can't you just trust me? I've killed Durza for you already, what else do I have to do to make you trust me?!"

Arya stepped back. They all did. It was then Ikharos realized that he was shouting. He lowered his voice, but it was impossible to hide all the anger he was feeling. "They're Ahamkara," he muttered hurriedly. "Colloquially known as wish-dragons. They're shapeshifting predators who feed on the desires of other living creatures. And they are not friendly."

"What... what do they want?"

"To eat us, I imagine." Ikharos stood up. He'd outlined a sizable portion of the clearing. He cleared his throat and stowed away his rage - it wouldn't help anyone, least of all himself. "This is silver dust, blessed by Awoken Techeuns to resist the pull of an Ahamkara's magic. It was designed to keep me safe, but... now I have no choice. This will grant you rudimentary protection. Keep inside the area I've covered and you won't die to an idle wish."

"This is-"

"Go on. Say it. Call it ridiculous." Ikharos's eyes flashed violet, glaring through his helmet's visor.

Arya didn't argue. Her own temper would rise in time, he was sure of that, but fear had a way of making otherwise stubborn people compliant. "We should leave," she reasoned. "I can send warriors to comb this place for-"

"Not a good idea. They're guarding the river mouth. We can't go that way."

"Then we will circumvent them by-"

"Nope. They're shapeshifters. A whiff of our scent and they'll come running."

"What can we do?!"

"You can stay here, like you were supposed to, and let me hunt them down in peace."

"What of Eliksni? Javek can contact his brethren, can he not? They must send a Skiff!"

"Also not a good idea. Ahamkara can fly. And even if they don't get the Skiff, they'll sure as hell get Saphira. They'll happily rip her out of the sky." Eragon flinched. Ikharos sighed. "Flying isn't an option. Escape isn't an option. If they're truly working in tandem... then no, running won't work. I need to kill them. Or at least one of them. Which I was going to do, if you hadn't ruined everything!"

"You ran," Arya accused. "Just like we."

Ikharos agreed. "Oh yes, I very much did. Because they had us where they wanted us - cornered and caught unawares. I can't fight two of them at once. But, if you hadn't blundered in, I would have been able to take the first one out. We wouldn't be in trouble. I could have killed them one at a time! All this hassle because you don't know what the word 'trust' means. Why can't you people just listen?!"

"Nothing you've said thus far has been-"

"Do you honestly think of me as nothing more than a braggart? All I've told you is the honest truth! You saw the truth with your own eyes! What the hell do you think I'm trying to achieve by lying?!" He didn't wait for the answer. Ikharos marched past her and barked, "Kida, you're with me!"

"Understood, sir." Kida offered him a flawless salute.

"The rest of you stay here. Stay here! See that area? Do not, under any circumstances, cross that line. No matter what you hear or what you see, stay behind it. Or you'll be eaten just like," Ikharos clicked his fingers, "that. Zeshus, watch them."

"Wait," Formora said. She held out her shield. "You might-"

"No." Ikharos shook his head. "Keep hold of it. If worst comes to worst, you'll need it."

"Then... good hunting, I suppose."

"Thank."

"Hold!" Orik called out. He looked terribly confused. "What is happening?!"

Ikharos hesitated. "Just wait."

"For how long?"

"Until I return. If I don't, well... I don't know." Without looking back, Ikharos strode right back into the forest.

* * *

In hindsight, Ikharos supposed that Arya was right. Partially.

" _We really didn't have it under control, did we?_ "

Ikharos mentally shrugged. " _I didn't expect two_ ," he admitted. " _I mean, it's not normal Ahamkara behaviour. They're solitary predators. Two hunting together is… is… unheard of!_ "

" _We've discovered otherwise._ "

" _Seems that way, doesn't it_ _?_ "

" _Think they're Nezarec's?_ "

" _No idea. If they are, then we're already dead. There could be an Exo killsquad en route at this very moment._ "

" _There's the confidence I was looking for._ "

" _Oh, shush._ "

Ikharos kept a steady pace, Lumina in hand. He had little idea where he was going. He could have returned to the place he'd found the Ahamkara, but he felt nothing in that direction. He couldn't feel them at all. They'd fallen silent. They were hunting.

He might have been able to pick them out if it weren't for the forest. Du Weldenvarden was strange. Magic was in the air. Not powerful magic, but a mist of ambient paracausality. It was like the faint buzz of electricity in a house within the Last City. His senses in that respect were all awry.

Ikharos was close to giving up and trying a new method when the singing reached him. He could feel _that_. And hear it too. It was close.

"Return to me!  
Return to me, to me!  
My heart aches, o beloved mine,  
For there will never be 'nother like you!"

Ikharos tensed. The song, and the voice behind it, was incredible, but knowing what wove it together put him on edge He said to Kida, "Ready up."

"Query: shall I activate combat protocols?" Kida inquired.

"Activate away. You see them, you shoot. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. We can't let either of them get away."

"Rise, _Aiedail_!  
Rise, o rise, ever-bright _Aiedail_!  
The dawn is nothing without your smile, your gaze!  
Rise, o Morning Star mine, or this day of absence we will rue!"

Ikharos rechecked the Lumina's chamber for the umpeenth time: twelve bullets locked in. He hoped it would be enough.

" _They're putting on quite the show_ ," Xiān noted.

" _That they are._ "

" _They really want you._ "

" _They do._ "

" _I'll watch your back. They won't take us by surprise. Not again._ "

" _Thanks._ "

They passed the final hurdle and rushed onto… nothing. Just a shore lined with wet sand, loose earth, and smooth stones. Birds chirped, insects clicked, frogs squeaked, but there was little else to either see or hear.

The song continued:

" _Hlaupa eom edtha, hlaupa eom edtha,  
Onr weohnata finna ilian unin iet vaupneya.  
Kuasta eom edtha, kuasta eom edtha,  
Onr weohnata waíse frethyan frá du Mor'ranr_!"

It was in the ancient language. The Ahamkara knew how to speak it. Ikharos mouth went dry. He raised his cannon and quickly looked around, but he couldn't discern exactly where it came from.

" _Lake!_ " Xiān cried out.

Ikharos twirled around and fired, but he must have missed because the thing that grabbed him didn't falter in the slightest. He was snatched from his feet by long, bony fingers and dragged through the air. His vision was filled with the grinning visage of a ghoulish, long-haired, waterlogged corpse.

Ikharos's entire world was abruptly upended as he was rapidly tossed into the lake, and a split-second later water surged over his visor. He tried to kick and punch his way to freedom, but the heavy pressure of the lake around him slowed down his movements so they fell harmlessly against the Ahamkara's unnaturally strong arms. Its talons wrapped around his neck with an iron grip and tightened. His struggles only increased in ferocity as desperation set in, as useless as it was.

" _Light! Use your Light, before they drown it!_ "

Ikharos felt for power within, but the Arc broke free of his reigns and the Solar fled before his touch. He didn't care - they weren't what he needed. The Void waited for him, unmoving and thoroughly uncaring. He reached in and grasped the vast nothingness in a clenched fist.

When he released his grip, the Atomic Breach tore through the Ahamkara's midriff. It screamed - sounding both distant and impossibly loud. It's grip on him slackened enough for him to break free. It swam away, still shrilly keening, and left him to kick his way back to the surface.

The calm of the above was unsettling. It was as if Kepler itself was happy to ignore what was happening - happy to let the Ahamkara kill him.

Ikharos smothered his fear with newfound purpose, set his eyes on the shore, and swam as fast as he was capable of. He kept expecting the Ahamkara to return and rip into him from below, though the bite never came.

 _It's not dead_ , he thought bitterly. _That would be too easy._

It had dragged him a fair ways out, but Ikharos prided himself on being a strong swimmer. The distance was shortened in little time. Relief flooded through his system as his feet found solid ground.

Kida was there to grab his arm and help him back onto dry land.

"Thanks," Ikharos breathed. He gasped for breath. His heart hammered so hard he felt like it would burst out of his chest. "Damn thing's gone under, we need to… Kida, you're... bleeding..."

The Frame's metal face pulled open into a maw filled with teeth and shot forward. Ikharos stumbled back, narrowly avoiding the bite but not the claws that suddenly planted themselves deep inside his ribcage. The inward warmth he'd taken for granted was suddenly banished - replaced with the icy grasp of terror. Lumina fell from his nerveless fingers.

Energy bolts hit the Ahamkara's back, forcing it to disengage. Ikharos collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, and slumped over onto his back. His mouth filled with the taste of copper.

He was dimly aware of the fight occurring just a few feet away. Kida was marching forward, openly firing upon the not-Kida, but it had limited effect. The Ahamkara danced around with a grace that no Frame possessed and pounced upon its attacker. It transformed when it reached Kida, turning into something large and serpentine. The tail of the beast slammed into Kida and flung him across the clearing, out of sight.

The beast turned its insatiable gaze back on him.

Ikharos twitched his fingers, but Lumina was out of his grasp. It was somewhere nearby, that he knew, but he didn't know where - let alone if he could reach it.

The Ahamkara changed once more. From the discarded skin of the serpent glided an ethereal elven woman, the living embodiment of grace and beauty. She leaned over him and smiled predatorily.

"O _Aiedail_ ," she whispered. Her cold lips ghosted over his throat. Ikharos hadn't the strength left to push her away. "You have returned to me."

" _GET UP!_ "

Her smile was empty of everything but want. "Let me draw you into my embrace."

Ikharos didn't even have the breath to offer a protest. He was choking on his own blood. He closed his eyes and thought, " _We had a good run, Xiān._ "

" _NO GET UP GET UP GET UP WE'RE NOT DONE!_ " Xiān screamed.

The Ahamkara laughed, as if she could hear it all. Her lips parted to reveal her glittering fangs. She leaned closer, so close that she could-

A growl halted her progress. The Ahamkara frowned and sat up, turning to regard the intruder with a glare of comical disapproval.

The newcomer, an antlered snow-leopard, met it evenly and continued to voice its dissent. "No," it said as it padded ever closer.

"No?" The fanged woman tilted her head. In a flash she was the woman no more, but a white-furred tiger. "You reach beyond your boundaries. You have no right."

The snow-leopard hissed. The two wildcats padded closer and closer, until they could take it no more and crashed together in a violent clash that Ikharos couldn't keep track of, what with his darkening vision. The two morphed into a dozen different forms within the blink of an eye, too fast to follow. It was over in a second. The bigger one locked its jaws around the throat of the smaller and pressed-

Kida, one-armed and sparking, hobbled up to the bigger Ahamkara, leveled his shotgun with its head, and pulled the trigger. Red splattered across the lake stones.

Ikharos felt his life slipping. Xiān appeared in front of him, her fins shaking and eye bright. She opened up her shell and Light spilled out. A fire reignited within Ikharos, banishing all the pain. He got to his feet and drew forth his Light. His fingertips buzzed with power.

The smaller Ahamkara pushed the corpse off of it and climbed to its feet. The silver Fanghur hissed at its dead relative with such vehemence that Ikharos half-expected it to resume fighting.

"Arke," Ikharos realized. He let go of the Void and doubled over. He took his helmet off, spat out a goblet of blood, and stared at her. "You're here."

She ignored him and licked her wounded flank.

A metal hand grasped Ikharos's shoulder. "Are you injured, sir?" Kida asked. The Frame's voice was full of imitated concern.

Ikharos waved him away. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Shoot it again. Make sure it's dead.

The robot did as he asked. Three times. Each shot resounded across the lake like thunder. The Ahamkara didn't get back up.

Ikharos checked their surroundings. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Nothing. "Where's the second one?"

Silence was the only answer he received. And it was startlingly informative.

"Oh shit," Ikharos cursed. He scooped up his dropped cannon and ran.

**000**

Eragon paced around and tried not to get upset. No one would tell him anything - not even Arya. She only conferred with Lifaen in hushed, fearful words so soft he couldn't make them out. Narí hadn't spoken at all since he returned. It frustrated - and terrified - him.

Orik had even less patience than he. The dwarf had demanded answers, and when he received none, he declared he "won't partake in any more of this nonsense," and attempted to leave.

Zeshus had stepped in front of him and said, "No." The single word was uttered with such cold authority that Orik was left fumbling for a response.

"Then explain… this!" Orik gestured to the almost imperceptible circle they found themselves boxed in, ringed by a loose trail of silver dust.

"If you leave, you will die," Zeshus sternly told him. "You will endanger others. This is no game, dwarf. If you thought it one, then you are sorely mistaken."

"I will not be taken to be a fool!"

"Is that what you think this is? A joke?"

Orik grew red-faced with anger. "I don't know what to think because you will not say!"

Eragon leaned forward, both eager to hear how Zeshus would respond and worried for his friend. " _She is as terrifying as Ikharos._ "

Saphira grunted. " _She is not as rude. Not to me. I find her agreeable._ "

" _Then what do you make of this?_ "

" _... In truth, I do not know. But I do not think this a joke, as Orik imagines. There is trouble afoot. We must be alert._ "

Eragon glanced over to the huddled elves. Lifaen was the only one to return the look, grim-faced and confused. " _What did they see?_ "

" _I cannot presume to know. This forest feels strange against my scales. I smell so many new things that I cannot… What is that?!_ " Saphira got to her feet and curled her lip.

Eragon followed her line of view and stifled a gasp. Just outside the circle, on the side facing the river, was a human skeleton. It was standing straight up, despite the lack of flesh required to hold it together, and it seemed to gaze at him with its hollow eye sockets.

"Burzûl!" Orik cried. By then everyone had noticed. No one moved.

No one but the dead man.

It gingerly lifted one foot, then thought better of it. The skeleton kneeled down and studied the boundary of silver dust. Its jaw moved and its death-dried teeth clacked loudly together. Words spewed from the ghoulish creature, though Eragon didn't know how. "Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, sneaky, SNEAKY LITTLE CHILDREN!"

It started to laugh, but the only sound that came from it was the clattering of its jaw. _Click. Click. Click. Click._

"The children are clever!" It cackled. "The children are bold! O child mine, what cunning you have!"

Zeshus moved in front of Eragon. A circle shield was strapped to one arm while she held in her free hand a gun - the strange ranged weapons of foreign make. She aimed at the grinning skull and said, "Leave or die."

The skeleton stopped laughing, jaw hanging open. Black shapes flowed out of its shadow-cast maw and scuttled across its ivory skull. Eragon backtracked to where Saphira stood. His blood went cold.

A torrent of black insects crawled out of the skull to cover the entire body. Some of them turned red and some white, and others yet turned to other colours. Soon they covered the entire skeleton, growing from independent living creatures into wretched flesh. But the monstrous visage improved by every second, sharpening into a full person.

In the end, an elf with golden hair and elegantly slanted eyebrows stood in its place. His build was slim but strong. He wore a green tunic and brown leggings with black boots.

"Fäolin," Arya choked out. She ran for him - but Zeshus cut her off. The masked woman threw down her weapon and grabbed Arya around the waist.

"It's not him!" She hissed, pulling Arya back. "It's not him!"

The elf laughed and changed once more. In his stead stood a whip-thin man with greying hair.

"Garrow," Eragon gasped.

His uncle lifted a shaking hand and pointed at him. "You left me."

"Demon!" Orik shouted fearfully. Javek's panicked chitter was not long in following.

Garrow stopped smiling. A troubled frown replaced it. Once more, the figure changed identity, but what was left was something Eragon could scarcely comprehend.

It was a woman in leather armour and brown cloth. She wore a veil over her eyes, but they shone through regardless. All three of them. Only her lower face was revealed to the outside. Streams of dark mist dripped down her cheeks.

Ikharos appeared out of the brush of the forest only twenty yards away. There was blood on his robes. He stumbled into the clearing, but at the sight of the demon, he froze up. "Eris," he said numbly.

"Ikharos." The demon walked forward. She held out her hands. "It has been some time, hasn't it?"

"What are you doing here?"

The demon, Eris, hesitated. "We… did not part on the best of terms. I wanted to apolog-"

Ikharos lifted his gun and shot her in the head. The body hit the ground with a thump. "You idiot," he said, disgusted. "Eris would never say sorry."

He shot the body again and again and again. It twitched on the first, though it remained still after all the rest. Ikharos didn't let up until his weapon clicked uselessly. He looked up. "It's over. They're dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Ahamkara are such fun to write.
> 
> Thanks to Nomad blue!


	45. Dagshelgr

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"A one... a two... a three!"

They tossed the body into the shallow grave with some exertion. Ikharos grabbed the shovels Xiān dropped and tossed one over to Javek. He deftly caught it out of the air. They began to pile dirt over the corpse, while Ikharos did his very best to avoid gazing upon the Wish-Dragon's face. He knew it wasn't Eris, but it looked so real, and every time he saw her face he remembered the moment he found her.

He still couldn't believe he shot her. Even if it wasn't her.

"She has Hive eyes," Javek noted.

Ikharos shook his head. "Don't ask," he said harshly.

"Oh... Uh, apologies, _Kirzen_."

He felt bad. Javek was just being his curious self. Still, he refused to relive the horror of the previous night any more than he already had. _I'm not going to sleep soundly for some time_ , Ikharos glumly reflected.

Xiān enveloped him in warmth and compassion. It almost worked - but anger, fear, and guilt were too powerful to be wholly banished. Those dark emotions were the bane of sapient thought.

The grave was soon nothing more than a dirt mound. An identical pile of displaced dirt lay beside it: where they'd buried the tiger. Already he could hear the whispers promising him power and fulfilled desires. They offered him riches, weapons and armour. They taunted him with past failures and lost loved ones.

When Arke padded over and banished the voices, he felt an odd surge of relief and gratefulness.

"You're earning your keep," he muttered.

The little Ahamkara - now the size of a greyhound - smiled and curled up at his feet. She was an oversized wolverine with an eagle's hooked beak.

His gaze drifted back to the unmarked graves. "Who were they?"

"They were free."

"Not Nezarec's?"

"No."

"Then... why attack us?"

"You know hunger. I know hunger. Is there any cause more absolute in its authority?"

"So they were peckish? That's it?"

"That is it."

Ikharos scowled. "Just when my expectations lift, you bring them crashing back down. Beasts."

"My hunger is built on hatred. You need worry not, for it is not orientated towards the instruments of my vengeance."

"Oh, I'll worry. I'd be a fool to trust you."

Arke laughed. "Your thoughts are a delicacy! By hiding them, you only sharpen my appetite."

"How about no?" He took a deep breath. "This world is Earth-sized. There's millions upon millions of people. They could have found a meal elsewhere. Why us?"

"You are a child of Light. Uirachas was young and inexperienced ,untasted in your ilk, but Vorshyyr knew your kind. She fed from them freely."

"Fed? Nonlethally? I can't imagine Gunther's Six would allow that."

"Little feedings. Nibbles of thought. Tastes of desire." Arke's eyes flashed. "And, oh, how they desired. Your kind are not above the lulls of the flesh, despite your spirit-born origins."

"They really..." Ikharos trailed off. He blinked, rapidly, in surprise. "Traveler above, no wonder they're gone."

"Mmm."

"Will there be others to come for us?"

"No."

"And you're telling the truth?"

"Yes."

"How did they find us?"

"Your power. Your kind are a feast. You have the most delightful souls. You are life unlike any other."

"So it's me?" Ikharos looked around. "Maybe I should leave."

"If that is your wish."

Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "Or maybe not. Arke. Will other Ahamkara come for us, free or otherwise?"

"No."

"In the ancient language."

She yawned. " _Né_ , _theirr weohnata néiat_."

A weight lifted off his chest. "Good." He paused. "One of them called Gunther's six ' _Now-Two_.' Tell me: what did she mean?"

Arke stilled and looked up at him with her rich, golden eyes. "You are of the Warlocks," she whispered. "Your thirst for knowledge is insatiable. Or so it was with Hezran."

"Wait. You knew them? You... argh!" He clenched his jaw. "You actually knew the Six. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was never asked."

Ikharos smothered the frustration beneath his burning curiosity. "Arke. What. Did. She. _Mean_?"

Arke laid her head down. "Two yet live, and yet they do not."

"Who? Tell me!"

"Kelf. Uren."

"So... Uren actually wrote in Hezran's journal..." He found himself smiling. Relief flooded his veins and assuaged his fiery temper. "Where are they?"

"I do not know."

"Arke, you're-"

"I do not know." She snapped shrilly. "I do not!"

He believed her.

* * *

The others were where he left them. They stayed within the boundaries of the silver dust - even the normally cool-headed elves. After what they'd seen, he couldn't blame them. They'd been presented with a prime showing of an Ahamkara's powers.

And it probably didn't help that Arke was around. They knew what she was now. It was impossible to hide it.

All eyes were on her when they returned to the temporary camp, and it was a camp in the loosest term possible. All they had were blankets on the ground as makeshift beds arrayed in a broken circle.

"Bodies are dealt with," Ikharos announced. "And I want everyone present to make an oath never to reveal the location."

No one argued. Arya only asked, "Why?"

"Because if someone wanders by, purposely looking for them, then the Ahamkara could come back. And I don't have to tell you why that would be disastrous, do I?"

The elves gave their oaths. Orik, Eragon, and even Saphira followed their example. Ikharos didn't ask it of Javek or Formora. He didn't need to. They knew what Ahamkara were like, to some degree. And though it didn't go unnoticed by the others, it went unchallenged.

"What about _that_ one?"

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "Arke? She's with us. I think." He looked down at her. She was in the form of a panther garbed in raven feathers. "If there's any other shapeshifters ahead, she'll sniff them out."

Arke yawned, revealing her teeth. She had rows upon rows of triangular fangs, like a shark. All eyes were on her. Ikharos grew annoyed; the feeling only intensified when she flashed him a mischievous grin.

 _Bloody Wish-Dragons_ , he thought irritably. He walked over to the tiny fire Eragon had started. The Rider offered him a bowl of thin gruel. The only ingredients they had to cook with was rations, so the meal was hardly appetizing, but all Ikharos wanted was something to anchor him down. The scalding heat of the food did just that.

"It's almost dawn," he said between spoonfuls. "What's the plan?"

"Plan?" Arya asked dubiously.

"Yeah, plan. Someone roll out a map. We need to be clear with the route we're taking and the measures we exercise going forward."

"Wait." Arya's frustration shone through in the form of a furrowed brow and raised voice. "We need to discuss what happened last night."

Ikharos paused. "We were attacked by wild Ahamkara."

"That, _that_ , is what we need to talk about."

"I mean, it seems pretty straight forward to me."

"Nothing about this is straight forward!" Arya cried out. She took an angry step closer. "Ikharos, it's time you told us the truth! Not these vague remarks or those outrageous lies you think-"

Ikharos stood up very quickly, almost spilling the gruel. Arya went quiet. "Lies," he repeated in a dangerously quiet voice. "Is that right? Lies? I have told you nothing but the truth. Let them-" he gestured wildly in the direction of the graves "-be testament to that."

"You called yourself deathless," she spat.

"That's because I am." He unholstered his Lumina. She quickly backed away. "Do I have to shoot myself to prove that? Do I have to kill myself? _Eka eddyr dauthné_."

The silence was deafening. Arya took a moment to respond, and while her tone was no less biting, cracks of doubt shone through. "You may believe it, but that does not make it true."

Ikharos froze. He involuntarily glanced at Formora.

* * *

_"Just because you believe it, doesn't make it true," Ikharos retorted coldly. It was harsher than he intended. Formora inhaled sharply, and with a final angry look, she turned around. He sighed. "Dammit."_

* * *

He took a deep breath to keep himself from shouting and evenly met Arya's cold stare. "I said something similar to someone else. Turned out they were right. And now that I know what it feels like, to be ridiculed despite telling the truth, I feel like I owe them an apology. Perhaps more."

Formora's mind, which grew ever more familiar, pressed against his own. " _Thank you_ ," she said. A radiant flush of contentedness came from her end of the connection. It eased his rekinled rage to a delicate smoulder.

"Look, believe me or not, that's your choice. There's little I can do to change your mind. Honestly? Why the hell should I try? What does it matter if you believe me or not? My only job, right here and now, is getting you all to Ellesméra alive. Trust me to do that and we won't have any issues. I haven't failed you yet, have I?"

"No," Arya reluctantly muttered.

"No, I haven't. All you need to realize is that I'm on your side and I'm willing to put my lives on the line for you all." Ikharos sat back down. "Nitpick my words later, when we're in the clear. Ask your questions on the way. Leave the rest behind. For now, can we please plan out what happens next? If there's trouble ahead, I'd rather we don't blindly walk into it - as we almost did here."

"We couldn't have anticipated those... Ahamkara," Lifaen said carefully.

Ikharos nodded. "I'll grant you that. But this route we're taking, traveling by water... is it really necessary?"

Arya tiredly sat down opposite him. "We must reach Ellesméra with all haste. Before tales of a new Dragon Rider pair spreads."

"Because..?"

"Because there are those who may use this revelation to their own advantage."

"Ah." Ikharos grimaced. "Political."

"Yes," Arya agreed. "And what of your end? You... seem to know about these..." Her eyes darted to Arke. "Ahamkara. Why did they attack us?"

"Because they're hungry. Ahamkara are predators. To them, we're prey."

Her gaze remained locked on the feathered feline. "The creature last night... It changed into people."

"It changed into my uncle," Eragon added in a subdued voice. There were dark bags under his eyes. He looked at Arya nervously. "And-"

"And someone I once knew," Arya carried on. Something in her tone dissuaded Ikharos from digging any deeper. "And someone you knew, I presume."

"Yes," Ikharos admitted. He diverted his gaze towards the fire. "Eris. She was a friend." _More than a friend. Damn Crota to oblivion._ "They do that sometimes. Take the forms of those we cherish. Strong emotions - fear, guilt, love - lead to desire. To wants and wishes. That's how they catch us."

"How do you know so much about them?" Narí inquired.

"Because I hunt them."

Arke padded over to his side. She hadn't left him since the fight with Vorshyyr. In a dog or similarly causal animal that would have been endearing. Not so with her. She put him on edge. She didn't stick with him out of loyalty; she had no loyalty to speak of. No, he was positive Arke saw him in a similar light to how he saw her. They were mere tools to one another, nothing more.

"But..." Lifaen began. He looked terribly confused. "You said the dust would keep them at bay."

Ikharos frowned. "Did I? No. Nonono, it doesn't. It only keeps them from pouncing on your idle thoughts."

"So you left us without ample protection?!" Orik cried out.

"Oh, don't start. I did the best I could. And look! We're all alive!"

"Kida only has one arm," Lifaen muttered.

Ikharos glowered. "... You must be fun at parties."

"I'm sorry?"

"Kida can be repaired. I'll get Javek on that." Ikharos craned his head around. "Javek?"

The Splicer wandered over. " _Eia_?"

" _Kida-hulunkles. Ze dis-ra_?"

"Oh, _eia. Ne ze dis-ra Kii'da_."

" _Ne tas ze_." Ikharos turned back to the elves. He put the empty bowl down on the grass and clapped his hands together. "Now! Does anyone have a map?"

Narí wordlessly rolled out a sheet of fine paper upon which was a fantastically in depth map of Du Weldenvarden. He pointed to the west side of the Edda Lake. "We are here."

"What's our heading?"

Narí looked to Arya. She reluctantly nodded. He stabbed a finger down in the heart of the forest. "Ellesméra is here." He returned to their current location. "Here is the Gaena River. We will follow it to Ardwen Lake."

"Fair. And then? There's no body of water leading to Ellesméra from Ardwen. Are we walking?"

"Riding," Arya corrected. "We - Lifaen and Narí - will requisition mounts from Sílthrim. The rest of us shall remain outside the city."

"We could pick up more guards there." Ikharos pointed out.

Arya shook her head. "No. Too many already know. Ellesméra should be the first to learn of Saphira and Eragon."

"And of the Eliksni?"

"Just so."

Ikharos accepted it. "Then... what about security? Your forest doesn't seem so safe anymore. If Ahamkara can hide within, what else might be out there?"

"You expect us to be attacked again?" Narí asked, alarmed.

"No way of knowing. By virtue of simply being, Eragon's going to draw attention when he reaches Ellesméra. Unwanted attention. The enemy could have agents embedded within the population. How secure are your cities?"

Arya hesitated. "There are a great many powerful wards around each. Even the mightiest of Riders would have found difficulty in assaulting them."

"Good, but what about physical? Like walls?" He was clutching at straws; walls wouldn't hold back a squad of military-grade Exos. Or Cabal. Or Eliksni. Or Ahamkara. Or Shades. Their foes were too advanced for primitive barriers. What he was looking for was only the illusion of safety. He knew its lack of worth, but he sought it out regardless.

"No great walls," Arya reported. "We've never had need to build such. Our strength lies not in numbers or stonework, as it is with men and dwarves, but with magic."

"That might change," Ikharos said grimly. He stood up. "Still, a few wards beats sticking around here, in the open. We need to pick up the pace. What happened last night was a worst-case scenario, but that doesn't mean it won't repeat itself. Ahamkara aren't the only monsters roaming Alagaësia right now. Let's meet up with Kiphoris and get to Ellesméra. Clear?"

Mumbled agreements and acknowledgments were all he received.

"Inspiring," he grumbled. Ikharos cleared his throat. "Lifaen, Narí, get the canoes ready. Eragon, stay with Javek. He'll watch over you. Saphira, I want you to stick close to them. Arke?"

The Ahamkara lazily looked up.

"Get in the air. If you sense trouble coming, inform us."

She got to her feet and morphed into an eagle with six wings. She leapt from the ground and took off with startling speed. The elves followed suite - after watching Arke for a few nerve-wracking seconds - and began dragging the white vessels back into the water.

Ikharos was about to go pack up his few belongings when Arya stopped him. "We are not finished," she warned him. Her gaze flitted upwards. "Arke is an Ahamkara?"

"Well, yes."

"How are we to know she won't attack us?"

"Because Kiphoris ensured that she wouldn't. She's made oaths in the ancient language to obey us."

"Us?"

"Kiphoris and I. Look, she's a wildcard, and if she makes one wrong move I'll kill her, but I can't accurately detect other Ahamkara. And there are sure as hell going to be other Ahamkara down the line. We need her to sniff them out."

"Is there no way to fight them?"

"Sure there is. By killing them as you would any other living creature. But Ahamkara are built differently. We struck really, really lucky here. If we get trapped a second time, that luck's not going to hold."

Her expression hardened. "I do not like this."

"Neither do I," Ikharos admitted. "But this is the hand we've been dealt."

"... So be it. I am..." She momentarily closed her eyes. "I am trusting you to guard us. But, if anyone is hurt or-"

"Then I'll put her down. I told Kiphoris the same thing." He sighed. "We're playing with fire, I know."

Arya wasn't finished. "When we reach Ellesméra, you are going to explain this all to me. And you are going to be truthful."

What tolerance he had left quickly abandoned him. Ikharos bitterly said, "That's what I've been doing."

"I don't believe you."

"That's your problem, not mine." He stepped past and walked away, effectively cutting the budding argument short. She didn't call him back. They just weren't compatible, he figured, but what really irked him was her tendency to bang heads with him every time he opened his mouth. He could hardly wait for the moment when their trek through the forest was over and they could go their separate ways.

**000**

Formora set herself to the task of gathering her weapons. What had once been exotic and alien was now comfortingly familiar. Her rifle and sidearm were both potent and versatile, but it was the shield that she found herself so often enamoured with. It was large and sturdy, and yet despite its size it was relatively light. It's most impressive trait was its ability to remain undented and rust-free no matter what the elements threw at it. Like her sword.

"This is madness," Orik muttered nearby. Formora subtly leaned closer, her interest piqued.

"What is?" Eragon asked, his voice just as hushed. "Arke?"

"No. Yes, that, but everything else too. Metal men, deathless men, and shape-changing monsters." The dwarf furiously stomped the fire out. "Dark magic I tell you. Evil magic."

"Ikharos does not appear to be evil," Eragon replied dubiously. "He killed Durza. He saved Murtagh. And he saved us last night."

"There is a beginning and end for all things," Orik continued on, "even stone. Only the gods have the right to hold themselves above it all."

"Ikharos is just a man."

"So are Shades, before they allow power to claim their minds."

"He's... not a Shade." Eragon didn't sound certain.

Orik played with his beard. "Perhaps not. But something else? He is no human, I can tell you that much. Not as you are, or Ajihad was, or any man of the Varden."

On that, Formora agreed - wholeheartedly so. Merely being in Ikharos's presence for the past few months had taught her that much. His appearance was a false mask. Something else lurked beneath. In that respect, the Risen was as unpredictable as the Ahamkara he hunted. But it had ceased being cause for fear some time back. He was not human, but he was a person.

"If so, then wouldn't that be all the better for us?" Eragon wondered. "He's an ally to us."

"An ally we don't understand." Orik sighed. "Magic, eh? It throws all we know into a quandary."

* * *

Despite the exciting night, leaving the clearing and resuming their course was an unremarkable affair. When the adrenaline faded, all that was left was the monotonous everyday work of moving on and on. However, the tension never left. Especially on the first canoe, which she shared with Narí, Arya, and Ikharos. It was always the latter two.

She had to do something. Mending the relationship was impossible: it was less than cordial when it began. No, she just needed to lessen the impact of the veiled hostilities. Or merely warn Ikharos of the pitfall he was walking into.

" _Arya is the daughter of Islanzadí_ ," she told him. It was abrupt and direct, just how he preferred to talk. In a way, she wanted to see how he would react.

Formora was left disappointed. He looked at her, but otherwise didn't outwardly show any signs of having heard. " _Is she? Did you know her too?_ "

" _No. But the others named her Arya Dröttningu._ "

" _What does that mean?_ "

" _'Heiress to the throne.'_ "

" _So she has a superiority-complex?_ " He nodded ever so slightly. " _No wonder she doesn't like me._ "

" _Or it may be that you likened yourself - and your people - to Shades. Do not forget, she was kept as a prisoner by Durza._ "

" _... Oh_." To his credit, he sounded genuinely regretful. " _So that... was very undiplomatic of me._ "

" _Indeed_."

" _Shit_." He had the decency to look aghast. " _I didn't intend to be… Oh shit._ "

Narí caught sight of the horrified expression and asked, "Is something the matter, Shadeslayer?"

"I... no. Nope. I'm just... just..." He trailed off.

" _Just what?_ " Formora teased. It was a nice change of pace. Better than allowing her thoughts to remain on the topic of the previous night's Ahamkara.

"Just thought I forgot my cannon." Ikharos casually tapped the Lumina at his hip. "Nothing to worry about."

Neither Narí or Arya believed him, that was clear, though they didn't press him for it. A gulf had opened beneath him and their elven guides.

" _You're despicable_ ," Ikharos grumbled. Formora grinned broadly, confident that it was hidden behind her visor.

She refocused solely on the motions of paddling. Eventually, her mind turned to questions and wonders. She inquired, "Do your kind engage in intimate relationships?"

He sent her a strange look. " _Where's that coming from?_ "

" _I'm trying to imagine how an Ahamkara could challenge a Risen. And if there's any desires for them to use against you._ "

Ikharos breathed in and out very slowly. " _Our lives may be tied to Light, but we're just as prone to instinct as every other human and neohuman species. Yes, we have the capacity for love - just as we have the capacity for hate, jealousy, greed, pride. Love's just the hardest to keep alive. Ahamkara can use all of that, and more, to defeat us._ "

" _I find myself curious. Do your people adhere to traditions?_ "

He shrugged, the movement so slight she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it. " _Some adopt the ways of other cultures - like marriage. Others just... go along, making it up on the way. But intimate relationships of any sort are few and far between._ "

" _Why?_ "

" _We're a long-lived race, we Risen, but ironically most of us don't live long._ "

She had another question, but Formora debated whether to voice it or not. She suspected it wasn't quite as benign as the others. In the end, curiosity won out. " _Have you ever loved?_ "

Ikharos went quiet. His mind almost closed up entirely. Formora regretted asking in the first place. But, after a long stressful minute, he answered. " _Yes. Twice. And neither ended well. Makes me a fool, doesn't it? I should have learned my lesson the first time. An Ahamkara could indeed use my past against me._ "

" _I'm sorry for asking._ "

" _And you?_ "

" _Once. But the parting was not difficult. We merely found ourselves incompatible._ " Formora found no issue with talking about. Conversations with Ikharos were always... free. Open. She appreciated that. " _He was_ _Alavánda, a scion of House Thrándurin._ " But here, the openness gave way to murky waters. She didn't know where to step. " _You don't have to answer this, but who were the recipients of your affections?_ "

Ikharos's movements became stiff. " _The first was Zahl Amand. He was a doctor and one of the first to be called Earthborn Awoken._ "

" _And... the second?_ "

" _Not really a second. She and I never had anything between us, not to the extent that Zahl and I did, but there was potential. Potential that the Hive shattered._ "

A taut silence stretched out between them

" _The woman last night. The one the Ahamkara became..._ _I wanted to ask before, but..._ " Formora realized. Her thoughts were thrown into disarray as the implications of the revelation made themselves known. " _Three eyes? Was that the Ahamkara or was it-_ "

" _Eris is Risen. Ghostless, but still Risen._ _And those are Hive eyes. She stole them from an Acolyte to replace her own. Or something along those lines._ "

Formora caught her breath. _Replace her eyes?!_

She pushed past the revulsion and horror to ask, " _Are all Hive eyes green?_ "

" _Yeah_ ," he replied in a cold, neutral voice." _That's their favourite colour._ "

" _I saw something like that. In a..._ " She hesitated. " _This may sound ridiculous, but I saw the eyes of a Hive creature in a dream._ "

He didn't joke or otherwise ridicule her. " _A dream?_ " He asked quickly. His voice became sharp and serious. " _What else was there?_ "

So she told him everything: the army, the snow, the fortress, the spire, and the warriors locked in combat.

" _It could be Albazad_ ," Ikharos noted. "T _he Strife Cult fortress we read about in Hezran's journal. It's supposed to be in the far north. And those fighters are... well, one of them is a Sunbreaker Titan. I don't know about the other. I've never heard of anything like that. Are you sure it wasn't an Arc staff?_ "

" _I saw no Arc._ "

" _... I don't know. Maybe it's just a Shade. Or an Ahamkara. They're strong enough to give any Risen a challenge. Still, the Hive eyes make me nervous. Maybe Nezarec has one with him. He is, after all, utilizing an altered form of Sword Logic. He could have yet another pet at his disposal._ "

"What should we do?"

" _I don't know. None of this is good, but I don't know if there's anything we_ can _do. Not now. Maybe its a vision of Kelf and Hezran were attacking the Strife Cult. Maybe it's just a random dream. So... yeah, I don't know._ " He shifted uncomfortably. " _If you receive another vision, tell me. I'm no Thanatonaut, but I am a Warlock, so if there's a pattern we can pick up on it._ "

Formora nodded hesitantly. " _I'll keep that in mind, but... it was just a dream._ "

" _A dream about an alien creature you could never have seen before? I don't buy it. It could be a warning of some kind._ "

" _From whom?_ "

" _I... don't know that either. But it isn't a dream. I'm sure of it._ "

Narí, sitting at the prow of the canoe, turned about and announced, "We are upon the Gaena River. Celdin and the Eliksni will be nearby."

* * *

Their guide's words rang true. Kiphoris, Celdin, and Melkris were waiting by the mouth of the river. The Eliksni were wide-eyed and wary.

"You were attacked?" Kiphoris called out.

"Aye!" Ikharos shouted back. "Ahamkara! Two of them!"

"Argh, psekisk! What happened?"

"I killed them! Arke helped!"

Kiphoris tilted his head. "She did? Where-"

An eagle with far too many wings glided down and landed upon his shoulder. Kiphoris trailed off, his question answered. "There," he said, too softly for any but elves to hear.

They paddled the canoes closer to the banks. Celdin began conversing with Arya and Lifaen in a hushed voice thick with concern. The latter two promised that all were well and unharmed.

"Was there any issue with the Wish-Beasts?" Kiphoris pressed. He lumbered close to the water's edge, arms outstretched and back hunched over. His red cloak trailed over the grass behind him.

"Some," Ikharos admitted. "One of them almost had me. Arke and Kida are the only reason I'm still here."

"Were the beasts agents of our foe?"

"We don't think so. Well, Arke doesn't think so. Still, keep the Scars on standby. If we run into Exos..."

Kiphoris looked over the rest of the group. "They will not survive such an encounter. We must hurry on."

"To the relative safety of Ellesméra."

"Is there anywhere else?"

"No, but... we're going to need more security there. If you can, speed along whatever deals you have in mind to get some Scars in the city. I won't be satisfied with its defenses otherwise."

The Captain nodded. " _Eia_ , I understand, but I will need time to think of how to convince Tarrhis. He is growing short-tempered with me."

"Maybe use it as an opportunity to test how many Scars have magic."

"That is... overtly forward. I envisioned a softer touch."

"No time. We're barely into the forest and we've had to deal with a pair of Ahamkara. Moving quietly will only get us so far; others will find us sooner or later."

Kiphoris looked away. "So be it. I will press your case. If I say it is your idea, he may be inclined to listen. Bah, that is a matter for later. Are any injured?"

"Kida's got one arm, as Lifaen so eloquently put it. I ordered Javek to fix him."

Javek, sitting in the other canoe, perked up. He beamed triumphantly and motioned to Kida's formerly broken limb. It was in a poor state, held on by a wrapping of cloth, but what wires were exposed looked halfway mended. Those that were too broken had already been removed and replaced by Eliksni-grade counterparts.

Kida, for his part, twitched his fingers experimentally. "I estimate repairs will be completed in three point two-six hours," he helpfully supplied. "Extrasolar entity designated Javek is an apt mechanic."

Javek dipped his head. "Tuhyenk oo."

"Thank you," Kiphoris corrected.

"Th... yank yo? Th... Th'hank you."

Kida just turned his head towards Ikharos. "Extrasolar entity designated Javek is incapable of basic communications."

" _Kida-ma'ha tas ze_ ," Ikharos told the young Eliksni. Javek's eyes crinkled with a cautious smile.

Kiphoris, impatient with the exchange, swiftly moved onto a separate topic. "We should continue onwards with all haste. Mine-senses are jumbled. There are too many new scents here. And... I feel out of place." He turned around, flicking his cloak behind him. "Arya! I presume we follow this river?"

Arya faced him and nodded. "Indeed, _Kiphoris-vodhr_. We must go on. However, at the end of this river lies a lake. Once more I must ask that you leave us to circumvent it."

Kiphoris hesitated. "I would not abandon mine-allies if they are in danger. We should walk."

"Neither Eragon, Orik, or Ikharos can keep pace with us. We must-"

"Actually, I _can_ keep pace," Ikharos interrupted. Arya glared at him. He frowned and grumbled. "Alright, alright, keep talking."

Arya sighed. "Our pace will be slowed and we will be left more exposed than if we continue as we are. I have discussed this with Ikharos; this is the right course to take."

The Captain growled. "I do not appreciate this. Our trek is slow. Mine-people had the means to cut it short."

"We cannot fly-"

" _Eia_ , I am aware." He made a rapid clicking sound alien to Formora's ears. It accentuated and exotified his already strange voice. "But awareness of a problem does not alleviate mine-frustrations. We are at war. To be slow is to invite death. I am Eliksni! I am not slow. I am fast, I am strong, and I am proud. I will humour your ways, elf, but do not forget what I am."

Unfazed, Arya bowed her head stiffly. "I will not. I apologize for any slight you may have-"

" _Nama_. No slight. I do not take this as insult. Only needless difficulty."

* * *

Kiphoris and Melkris loped along the Gaena River for as far as Arya allowed. Watching them was like watching... Formora didn't know. All life was connected. All life had its relatives. Eliksni were one of those few beings without those connections. They could subsist on ether alone - they had no need to hunt or harvest. There was no other living thing in the entire world like them - they were alone.

In that, she pitied them. They were, in truth, homeless nomads. They had nothing to tie them down. Nothing to keep them anchored. Once, perhaps, they did, but it was viciously cut away. Little wonder they became hardened warriors. Or perhaps they were always like that?

She asked Ikharos that very question.

" _They prized skill in combat, sure_ ," Ikharos told her, " _but they were more than warriors, back during their own Golden Age. Artisans, architects, engineers, weavers, bards, farmers, judges, and fair rulers. They were so much more. I don't know why the Traveler left them. I mean, I do, but... If I were the Traveler, I would pick the Eliksni over humanity. They're bigger, stronger, harder to kill, and the best machinists in all the galaxy. But the Traveler still picked us._ " He released a pent-up sigh of... something.

Intrigued, Formora presented him with the question: " _Do you have any theories why?_ "

" _I do, actually. Because we're better killers._ "

Formora looked over at the Eliksni, frowning. " _But they have claws on every limb, larger bodies, natural armour, and-_ "

" _I'm not saying they can't kill. You and I both know they're able to take on some of the biggest and baddest this world has to offer. But that's not what I mean. No, humanity is better at pairing the act of hunting with imagination. Our advantage, oddly enough, lies in the disadvantages having no claws, no sharp teeth, no natural armour. It forces us to_ think _. It forced our distant ancestors, those unfortunate apes who found themselves committed to the plains of Africa, to find new ways of finding food. We fashioned spears in the place of talons and started running. We forced our prey into exhaustion, so it could fight no longer and our weak, thin, soft skin bodies were not at risk of getting gored, and we ate of flesh._

" _Humans are born to kill with imagination. And that imagination has grown. We no longer need to run down an antelope and run it through. Now we raise cattle and grow crops. But new problems arise. Jealous, hungry neighbours - beast or man - come looking for their own meals. How does a farmer defend against that? They use their imagination, the one their forebears practiced, and put it to work with new tools and new purposes. It's only evolved. We aren't alone in this. Eliksni can do this, Cabal can do this, but we can do it best. We are the most imaginative of all the major powers right now because we are the most at risk, because we are the smallest in both stature and population. We are the animals backed into the corner. And that's a good thing. It keeps our back covered and confines the fight to right in front of us._ "

" _You've given this a lot of thought._ "

" _I've had more than enough time to think and reflect. And... I like to read. History's my forte. That and alien culture. Philosophy comes hand-in-hand with those two._ "

" _And you call yourself a soldier._ " She laughed through the connection between their minds.

His consciousness flared up with childish affront and reluctant amusement. " _Allow me to correct myself; I am a martial-scholar._ "

" _Like every elf who engages in an affray._ "

" _Ah, but there is a difference. My ears are rounded and not at all designed to poke an eye out._ "

It was a barb. Formora, despite herself, took it in stride. " _And you are too bull-headed to be of älfakyn_ ," she shot back.

" _Touché_ ," he replied. There was a grin in his message - she could feel it all too keenly.

Formora paused. She rolled the word on her tongue, enjoying how fluid the pronunciation felt. " _What does that mean?_ "

" _Touché? It is a French word, meaning 'touched.' In fencing, it signifies a hit. It is an admittance of success for the opposing side._ "

" _French... Which people speaks that tongue?_ "

" _Humans did._ " The misconception delighted him, if the low chuckle was any indication. " _Those of France, anyways. There were other nations and provinces who employed it too, which elevated it to worldwide status. Handy to know if you happen to live in the EDZ._ "

" _EDZ?_ "

" _European Dead Zone. Formerly known as the continent of Europe. London, the city from which I first rose, was located one of the three nation-islands to the west of the mainland._ "

"There is much about your home I do not know," she admitted.

" _Does it really matter? Earth is outside our current dilemmas. It's not relevant - now, at least. But, if we're going on the topic of home..._ "

" _You wish to learn of Du Weldenvarden?_ "

" _Sure._ "

Formora allowed it. " _We, the Fair Folk, are from-_ "

" _The Fair Folk? Your people call yourselves the Fair Folk?_ "

" _Are we not?_ " She challenged. She was more curious than defensive.

" _... Carry on._ "

Formora returned to her uneasy contentedness. It was maddening how bitter stress and good cheer afflicted her all at once. Such was the result of friendly company in an unfriendly place. As haunting as it was to walk the lands of her people, who bitterly scorned her very existence more than a century past, she found comfort in the presence of those she called companions. They were grown strong and righteous beneath the caress of a distant star - and thoroughly disengaged from the veiled threats her kin posed to them.

It was only right, then, that she elaborated on the workings of elven kind. For they were to walk blind into a myriad of vocalized duels. " _We elves hail from Alalëa, not Alagaësia, but we have adopted Du Weldenvarden as our home nonetheless. We are ruled by twenty-four elven lords and ladies, who head the twenty-four noble houses. Before the Fall, they numbered twenty-six. Over the nobles is a king or queen - könungr or dröttning. Currently, it is Islanzadí Dröttning. However, while they are of noble blood and have the loyalty of their subjects, neither regality or nobility can exert control over the lives of other elves as it is in dwarven or human societies._ "

" _That's not so bad._ "

" _No, it is not. Each elf, no matter if they be male or female - älfa-madr or älfa-kona, holds equal standing in our culture. Each may pursue the life they wish and the hobbies they enjoy. Magic and everlasting lives have allowed us to expend most of our time towards whatever presently interests us._ "

" _I'm starting to like your people. Where's the part you have issue with?_ "

" _My frustrations stem from my people's continued inaction. They, at large, refuse to fix the problems of this world. If it lies beyond the boundaries of Du Weldenvarden, they could not care less._ "

" _It's not so easy_ ," Ikharos argued. " _I've been on the other side of that spectrum. I've seen what happens when those more powerful take control. People suffer for it._ "

" _But if we could do it right? Find a balance?_ "

" _Maybe... Look, this isn't my world and your people are not like mine, so you likely have a better idea of what can be done._ "

Formora considered his objection, but she couldn't find reason to adopt it. " _You speak of the Warlords._ "

" _Yes._ "

" _Are you not a Warlord?_ "

" _That's... different. It's a title others bestowed on me. Not one I welcomed._ "

" _Welcome it now. The elves will allow you more consideration if you introduce yourself as a member of nobility._ "

" _It's not nobility-_ "

" _So you have said, but my point stands._ "

" _Fine._ " He wasn't pleased, as far as she could tell.

" _You find this distasteful_ ," she murmured.

" _I find it inane. Lord Ikharos Torstil sounds pretentious. But..._ " He hesitated. " _I do appreciate the effort. So thank you._ "

" _You say that quite often as of late._ "

" _Only_ _because I feel I don't say it enough. You have been enormously helpful. I'm glad to have you on my team._ "

Formora dipped her head to convey her own gratitude.

* * *

In time, the river gave way to a roaring waterfall. The cliff was about a hundred feet tall, and streamed down a stone face with an overhang that made it impossible to climb. Lifaen pointed out a track that had been worn into the steep ridge some distance from the falls. "That is where we climb," he announced. "We have to portage our canoes and supplies for half a league before the river clears."

They gathered their belongings and stuffed them into packs. Ikharos put what few things he carried into his digitized vault, and offered the use of it to the others. Formora didn't hesitate to hand over her bag, but the only other person to do the same was Eragon, who appeared terribly uncertain.

"Remember what I said about transmat?" Ikharos asked him, amused. "They'll be in the same exact condition as they're in when you give them to me."

Eragon nodded. "Alright." He held out his over-packed bag. Xiān, still unseen, took it away. Eragon gaped at his empty hands. Ikharos chuckled. The young Rider closed his hanging jaw and bowed his head, as if it would hide his embarrassment.

Kiphoris, without waiting for instruction, lifted one of the canoes out of the river and shook the water from it. He effortlessly hefted it onto his shoulder and walked on without a hitch.

"Do you not need assistance, noble Kiphoris?" Celdin asked.

The Captain grunted in reply, " _Nama_. It has little weight. I am capable"

Melkris and Javek followed his example and picked up the second between them. Obleker trailed after them, humming without end.

An hour later, they had topped the ridge and hiked beyond the top of the waterfall to where the Gaena River was once again lazy and crystal clear. The scenery was idyllic and tranquil. It carried with it the bittersweet connotations of home.

Arya stopped them and said, to Kiphoris, "Here we must part. Beyond lies the lake of Ardwen, and on the other side of that is the city of Sílthrim. I expect we will encounter other elves. I don't want any of you seen before Islanzadí meets you. You are new and unexpected - and such changes must be handled with care."

She turned to Saphira. "That includes you. The queen must be the first to meet with you. Only she has the authority and wisdom to oversee this transition."

"You speak highly of her," Eragon commented.

At his words, Narí, Celdin, and Lifaen stopped and watched Arya with guarded eyes. Her face went blank, then she drew herself up proudly. "She has led us well... Saphira, you must hide during the day and catch up with us at night. Ajihad told me that is what you did in the Empire."

" _And I hated every moment of it_ ," she growled.

"It's only for today and tomorrow. After that we will be far enough away from Sílthrim that we won't have to worry about encountering anyone of consequence," Arya promised.

"You will not be alone, wind-daughter." Kiphoris laid an upper hand on her flank. "We will guard you."

" _I do not need guarding_ ," Saphira said defensively.

"Or so you think," Kiphoris responded firmly. "You are yet young. There is strength is standing with a crew and wisdom in listening to elders. Do not disregard my words."

Saphira offered no further resistance. She went with the Eliksni as they once again followed Celdin. Obleker and Kida marched with them, the latter only moving on Ikharos's instruction.

Arke remained behind, still soaring high above. Formora couldn't decide if it was cause for relief or concern.

Arya was not finished. She turned to them and said, "If you have cloaks, don them so that your ears are disguised.

"My helmet-" Formora began.

"-is of foreign make," Arya finished. "It will draw attention."

"I... will not remove it. I cannot."

Ikharos stepped in and offered her a cloak. Formora frowned - she had her own - and threw it across her shoulders. She soon found why he offered it. The hood was deep and low-hanging. It shadowed her already dark helmet into obscurity. He tugged at the corner of the hood, stepped back, and remarked, "Now you look like a true Hunter."

There was an underlying emotion in his voice. It was one of longing for things that would never be. Ikharos said no more and pulled another cloak out of the air. It was little more than hood with a green, and it did not blend well with his armour at all, but it did its task - to some extent. If an elf lingered close, they would know him for what he wasn't.

"What of me?" Orik demanded.

Arya hesitated. "We will have to go on. Of all here, your presence will raise the fewest questions."

The dwarf grumbled under his breath, thoroughly displeased.

* * *

Ardwen Lake was as motionless and clear as she remembered it. The canoes glided effortlessly across it. The reflection of the moon was hazy and distorted with what few ripples their paddling summoned, like a messy oil-painting. Similar vessels of birch-white floated across the water some ways off, lit up by the faint glow of dimmed werelights. They kept their distance from those, but not conspicuously so.

Though the secrecy was not for her sake, Formora appreciated it all the same. Her people had grown alien to her, like a half-forgotten memory.

As the gloom deepened, a cluster of white lights flared into existence far ahead. Sílthrim's ethereal glory was undeniable. Formora realized, as a tear ran down her cheek, that she had missed it. She missed her home. Too much of her life had been spent outside it. And, if she survived what lay ahead, she didn't doubt that fate would continue to draw her away.

They made landfall far from the city some time later, when the moon had reached its zenith. They made a fire, set down for supper, and laid out their bedrolls. Formora abstained of the meal and sat away from the others, content with her own company.

The fire was low and on the verge of dying when a voice - made soft by distance - floated through the air. More voices gradually joined in, adding their magic to the spell.

Formora's eyes shot open as she picked up on the temptatious nature of the melody.

"What _is_ that?" Ikharos asked.

Then, rather abruptly, Eragon leapt to his feet. Before he could run off, Arya grabbed onto his arm and yanked him back. Orik made flee as well, and it took both Lifaen and Narí to wrestle the stubborn dwarf back to the ground.

Formora stood poised and ready to stop Ikharos, but while he did stand up, he didn't attempt to run. All he did was frown at the happenings before him and send her an inquisitive glance. It gave her pause.

"I feel... off," he finally said. Sorrow coloured his words. "I am... I am not meant for this. It's crashing against me. I feel it. It's supposed to do something but it can't. I'm not meant for this."

He was not affected. Not as the rest of them were. Even as the song danced in her mind, roared in her ears, and suffused with her blood, it did little for him.

"My life is not the right life," he decided cryptically, and sat back down with his face lowered. His fire had gone out. It made her uneasy. "This world has no room for me."

"It's Dagshelgr," she told him, if for no other purpose than to draw out the man she knew. He looked up, a sliver of his ever-sharp curiosity bloomed in his grey eyes.

He simply asked, "Explain it to me?"

"It is an invocation for the purpose of revitalizing the life of the forest - all the plants and animals within reach."

His head dipped down. "I know. I can feel its intent. Its meaning. But it washes over me."

"What do you mean?"

"It can't reach me so it goes around. Why does it go around?" He looked pensive. "Why? It does not recognize me. It wants who I was, not who I am. Why does it ignore me?"

"Ikharos-"

"That's it. The song wants Ikharos. Not me."

A cold feeling gripped her, overpowering the effects of the song. "Then who are you?"

He dropped his gaze for the second time. "I'm Ikharos-but-not. I've stolen his name." He lifted an arm and watched his fingers stretch out. "And his place. I'm the missing puzzle-piece for a lost puzzle."

Formora understood. Or she hoped she did. She sat down next to him and said, "Make your own puzzle."

"How? The pieces don't fit."

"Make them fit. You excel at that."

"... I do," he relented. "But what if I'm taking the place of something else? Again?"

"You're not."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're making a new place."

"I thought I was making a new puzzle?"

"Why not both?"

He frowned and, after a moment's consideration, nodded. "Okay."

The rest of the night was rife with noise as animals searched for mates and as Orik argued with Arya. Ikharos was silent through it all. Formora stayed with him for fear that the magic of Dagshelgr had affected him in some unseen way. He was a giant in matters of magic, but he was not above its potency.

Some time later, when dawn threatened to rise, Arya stepped over to them. Her expression was one of suspicion and concern.

When she looked at Formora, it was a look of knowing. "You are..."

Arya didn't need to finish. Formora reluctantly offered a nod. "I am."

Her heart hammered, and yet a stronger worry pulled at her. Arya's imperceptible gaze judged her, but in time it found Ikharos. "And what of him? How does he fare?"

"I do not know."

"Confused," Ikharos grunted. He lifted his head. His face was a cold mask of hollow indifference. "And torn. Like my very being - flesh and Light - is being drawn in opposite directions. I hate it. I hate it." He released an explosive, shuddering sigh and closed his eyes. "I'm... The song offered me a cup of ambrosia and told me I cannot drink. It told me I have wings, but I cannot fly. It told me that the future I'm building will come... but I will never see it. Soulful dissatisfaction: that's what it was."

He rested his head back against a tree. "The song was designed for creatures of causal make - not halfbreeds like me."

"Halfbreeds?" Arya echoed questioningly.

"Best and worst of both worlds. The perfect imperfect." He rose up on unsteady legs and braced himself against the tree. "Here comes Kiph."

His words proved prophetic. Kiphoris, Melkris, and Javek ran through the trees. Their eyes were wide - all twelve - and their claws flexed erratically.

"Magic," Kiphoris growled darkly. "I... I feel... I need... ether!"

Obleker floated behind them. Celdrin walked after it with Kida. The elven man held out his hands in apology. "I did what I could," he said.

Obleker's plating folded back and streams of ether-mist floated out. The Scars crowded around the Servitor, shivering and clacking their mandibles at irregular intervals.

"They'll be fine," Ikharos muttered. "The song's effects won't last long enough to cause any harm. They're just agitated. The ether will calm them."

A shadow passed overhead. Saphira did not waste time before she landed, heedless of the carnage her claws caused. She shivered and arched her neck, panting between her open jaws. Eragon supportively put his hand on her shoulder.

They were missing someone. Formora looked up. The sky was empty. Arke was gone.

**000**

"Hello Grieg."

The bloodied man looked up. His features were contorted into a permanent grimace. His hands were bound. One of his legs was broken. That was Palkra's work. The Captain stood at her shoulder, silent and waiting.

Tellesa took the chair opposite to Grieg and uncorked a bottle of wine. It had been one of the few things she'd managed to snag before the Eliksni laid claim to the pantry. Well, what doubled as a pantry. It was just another chamber in the winding caves.

"Fuck off," Grieg snarled. His skin was pale and taut and slick with sweat. His chin was red with drying blood.

Palkra moved forward. Even if he didn't understand the words, the insolent tone was universal.

" _Nama_ ," Tellesa said. Palkra reluctantly backed away, claws inches from Grieg's face. The slaver let out a breath of relief as the Eliksni stepped away.

Grieg tried to smile. It was a pitiful attempt to look brave. "Where'd you get them?" He asked, jutting his chin towards the Captain.

"Hell," Tellesa replied quietly. "I found them in hell."

"Wha..?"

"I went to hell, Grieg. A Shade killed me, but not all of me. So my heart was still beating while my soul was in hell. I found these demons. They said I didn't belong. They showed me the way back. Didn't get out unscathed, though." She turned her head to show her scar. "This here makes me one of them. They listen to me."

"Very funny," Grieg snarled. It was half-hearted. Doubt was creeping in.

Sensing victory, Tellesa continued on. "The Shade's dead now. Did you hear about that? He brought an army. My demons and I sent them running with their tails between their legs."

"You... No. You didn't."

"Didn't say I did. Durza died with a wraith's hand around his heart."

"Wraith's a fairytale." The slaver sneered.

Tellesa laughed coldly. "So are demons! Night's coming, Grieg. All sorts of nightmares are coming out." She took a swig and held down a gag. The wine was very, very sour. Almost vinegar. Tellesa offered it to Palkra. He didn't even look at it. Unbothered, she turned to Grieg and held it out. He sent her a suspicious look, then grabbed it and drank deeply.

"You've got a place waiting for you. Angvard told me himself. It needs to be filled."

He spluttered and dropped the bottle. It smashed against the cave floor. Tellesa rolled her eyes and picked up the glass neck. "What?!"

She had him.

"You can talk with us," Tellesa whispered. "Or you talk with him."

Palkra leaned forward, eyes glowing fiercely.

Grieg shrunk down in his chair, cringing as the movement jostled his leg. "I-I..."

"Where are the Urgals?"

"Gone! They're gone! Ran far and fast!"

"You didn't try to snag some?"

"No! No, they're crazy!"

"Where did they go? We know they came past here. You would have seen their heading."

"North! They went north!"

"Into the desert?"

"Yes!"

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

"No!"

"Good." Tellesa leaned back and called over her shoulder, "We're done!"

She stood and considered the slaver for a moment. That was all she gave him - a moment. He was undeserving of any longer. Tellesa walked to the chamber's exit and Palkra followed. Others were waiting outside. The three she was searching for - wire-thin men with whip-scarred backs - gave her eager, hopeful looks.

Tellesa passed the broken bottle neck over to the first slave - now freed - and bade them, "Be quick."

They rushed into the chamber with clumsy, giddy movements. Grieg's screams were not long in following.

"Come on," she ordered the rest. Kielot and Murtagh fell in line behind her. Palkra kept pace with her. His guards moved ahead of them to clear the way.

The rest of the cave system was engulfed in chaos. Soldiers of the Varden and Eliksni of House Scar ripped through the remains of the slavers' base, searching for survivors or loot. Greed, like insolence, was ubiquitous. Gold, weapons, armour, even boots were taken. Anything edible was snatched up by the Eliksni and summarily devoured. They were a hungry bunch.

Liberated slaves roamed around without purpose, wide-eyed with shock and elation. Some cowered from the Scars, terrified. Tellesa looked around, absorbing the sight and accounting for all of it. "Kielot. Get them organized into those who can walk and those who can't. Send a message to Parzald. Tell him what happened. And tell him to send a relief column."

"Understood." Kielot snapped off a salute and raced away.

Murtagh released a heavy breath. "Damn."

"Something wrong?" Tellesa inquired, eyes still roaming. There were too many bodies for her outriders to deal with alone. The Eliksni had killed most of the slavers with their rifles and the rest with lightning swords. It was clean work, almost bloodless, but grim nonetheless. She would have to order the digging of deep graves.

"This is... different."

"It's war."

"Yes. And it's different."

"It's the different they deserve."

"I won't argue that," Murtagh said carefully, "but this is unlike you. What happened _there_ was unlike you."

 _What happened with Grieg._ "We have no mages to break his mind. And I would not torture him, so-"

"What's happening right now?" Murtagh challenged.

Tellesa paused. "Justice."

"Justice? Death is justice. _That_ is not."

"Vengeance then."

Murtagh nodded like something had been confirmed. "Vengeance. That's not what-"

"' _Recognizing injustice does not make a just world._ ' Ikharos told me that. And he's right. The empire took everything from me. It's taking everything from these people. I would see that favour returned."

"On whom?"

"The people responsible. Don't pick at my choices. I know who's to blame. I'm not blind."

"Just..." Murtagh hesitated, "be careful. Don't let your desire for vengeance overcome you. You're better than that."

"... Thank you."

Palkra growled impatiently. Tellesa nodded to him. "And thank you, Palkra. You can go. _Da_."

He marched away, guards following close behind. The Captain was far less patient and much more menacing than any Eliksni she'd met thus far, but he didn't frighten her. Despite his monstrous appearance, he was as much a person as any human or dwarf. Paltis and Alkris had shown her that.

Her hand tightened around the handle of Alkris's sword. Bitterness, a rage against the unfairness of it all, flooded her heart.

"Damn indeed," Tellesa muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Last segment got dark.
> 
> Thanks to Nomad Blue!


	46. Homecoming

Lifaen and Narí had left for Sílthrim to fetch the steeds. Everyone else remained in the forest, either too tired or too nervous to move.

Formora was of the latter. Unlike Arya, Celdin, and the Eliksni, it was not another Ahamkara attack she worried over. It was Ikharos.

He was still at the same tree as the night prior, crouched down to sketch something in the dark forest soil with the tip of his knife. He had grown eerily silent, save for the occasional _scratch-scratch_ of metal on stone. The pebbles never stood a chance. His knife carved out an ever-growing grid of squares. Ikharos began with an eight-by-eight, and evidently found it dissatisfactory. It soon became a ten-by-ten, and then a twelve-by-twelve.

"How far does it go?" Formora inquired softly.

Ikharos paused, now on eighteen-by-eighteen. "This will never end," he muttered, and desisted in his efforts entirely.

"What is it?"

"A game. Like a chessboard." He perked up. "Exactly! A chessboard." He started stabbing alien symbols into the middle of the squares. Not all were marked. The unfamiliar runes crowded two opposite ends. An empty field was left in the centre. "The king was here, surrounded by pawns." Ikharos pointed to one side, where the soil was noticeably darker. Formora thought that was intentional. "He was opposed by an army of rooks, bishops, and knights."

"I know this game." She sat down beside him. "But both sides have kings."

"No. Not this game. This one's different. The stakes are higher." He moved his knife to the centre. "The king moved here. He sacrificed his pawns to reach this place. It was a risk. And it didn't pay off."

"The king was taken out of the game?"

"Yes. All of this," he gestured to the lighter side, "moved to engage. And the King was killed as a result of his bold ploy."

It was metaphorical. Or so she presumed. "Which piece defeated him?"

"Bishop."

"Ah. And the game has finished?"

"No. The rules of chess are erroneous. The king isn't the leader. He's a farce. The queen is the true danger." He pointed back to the dark side of the grid. "And there's two queens."

"What of this side? It has no king, but what of a queen?"

"There's one. Cloaked in a shrinking crowd of pawns. Her power is falling away. Her influence is dying."

Formora didn't understand. Ikharos was speaking of meaningful things, but his words were born of knowledge gleaned from beyond the stars. Knowledge she did not possess. So she steered the conversation back to a topic she could claim some measure of mastery over: the present. "How are you feeling?"

"Dazed. All the insecurities I thought dealt with have been pulled out onto the forefront of my mind. I'm trying to wrestle them back into their cells, but they've caught a whiff of freedom."

"You never struck me as being insecure. You are..."

"Proud?"

"Tactical. Beyond the compromise of practicality."

"... I'll accept that. But these concerns are linked to questions to which there is no definitive answer."

"Such as?"

"Am I alive? Or am I alive?"

"That's... the same-"

"Or am I a corpse with a couple more miles to walk?"

That she knew how to answer. She lightly grasped his hand and brushed her palm over his wrist. "Your blood flows." She relocated her hand to his chest. The cloth and metal was cold to the touch, but there was an undeniable warmth just beneath. "Your heart beats. And your lungs draw breath. That is life. Not death."

"Fikrul would disagree."

"Who?" She pulled her arm back and sent him a puzzled look. The name sounded vaguely familiar - he must have mentioned it before.

"Nevermind. Let's humour the idea that I'm not a grave-born phantom. That leaves two options: either I'm a thief, or I'm a terrible person."

"... You don't sound very concerned about this."

"That's mere pretense. A lie I'm trying to convince myself of, as useless as that endeavour may be. But if it creates the illusion of cool-headedness, I'll take it."

"As I said, tactical. Why would you be a thief?"

"Because I've stolen someone's body. Their identity. That I'm not the original human Ikharos. That my Light grew into this husk like a post-mortem parasitoid."

"That's not you," Formora firmly told him. "Your life is defined by magic, but you are just as alive without it."

"The last option, then. That I've forgotten everything that happened. Everything that made my first life worth living. How could I be anything but terrible? Was there truly nothing worthwhile to hold onto? No one?"

She had no answer to that. Formora countered it with another question. "What does Xiān say?"

"To be as I am, nothing more."

"Then she is giving you sound advice. _I_ don't care about the first Ikharos. It is you, the man here and now, that matters."

"Thanks?" He said with some hesitation. "How, uh, often does Dagshelgr occur?"

"Once a year."

"So it won't happen for the duration of our stay?"

"That depends on how long we stay."

"Not long," Ikharos said quickly. Formora felt oddly disappointed to hear him say it. It gave rise to her own unanswerable questions.

Their talk was cut short when Narí and Lifaen returned astride brilliant white stallions, leading six other steeds behind them. None wore harnesses or saddles, leaving their resplendent coats undiminished. They were just as she remembered them.

"Elf-horses," she told Ikharos, anticipating the question. "We breed them to be beautiful, noble, and intelligent."

The Risen stood. She mirrored him. "They're impressive. Good stock."

"You are experienced with horses?"

Ikharos smiled. "No. But you and I both know those animals are something special. Your people don't do things by halves."

They approached. Narí, with a smile, dismounted and led a beast over to Ikharos. "This is Ifeldraneir. He will carry you, Shadeslayer."

Ikharos didn't hesitate; he stepped forward and gently placed a hand against the stallion's neck. "Ifeldraneir," he repeated. The animal blew air against his face. "Hello."

His fingers traced down to the animal's shoulders. It did not shy away from his touch.

"And for you, Zeshus," Narí indicated a second. "Erdhir."

"Thank you." She approached the horse slowly. " _Kvetha Erdhir_. _Eka eddyr aí fricai_."

Erdhir snorted and accepted her presence without complaint.

"They listen to commands in the ancient language," Narí explained. "They bear you only so long as they consent to; it is a great privilege to ride one. Shall I tell you the words you will need?"

"I think we're good," Ikharos replied. "I have a basic grasp of the ancient language. This shouldn't be a problem."

"That is good. But if there is anything you need, Shadeslayer, merely ask it of us."

"I appreciate the offer."

Narí walked away. Ikharos leaned over and whispered, in a conspiratorial tone, "How does one ride a horse?"

Formora froze. She spared him a quizzical look. "Truly?"

"Yeah?" He crossed his arms. The affronted attitude lasted for all of a second - Ifendraneir pressed his head against Ikharos's shoulders. The Risen grinned sheepishly and scratched the horse behind the ears. "I just never had reason to. Horses aren't as fast as Sparrows and-"

"Not as loud."

"Yes, but-"

"Ifendraneir won't let you fall, not unless you intentionally throw yourself off. And you possess a keen sense of balance. You'll be fine."

"But... how do I get up?"

"Really?"

"I don't want to hurt him." He stepped back. "I'll use my Sparrow."

"Too loud," she repeated. She vaulted up atop Erdhir's back. "This is how."

"You make it look easy." Ikharos sucked in a breath and followed her example in his own stiff manner. Ifendraneir accepted his weight, but Ikharos's body was tense with unease. Despite that, he posed a striking figure, what with his bright robes, elegant armour, and proud posture. Even the bright scars left by the Aphelion worked in his favour, bestowing him with a fearsome, grizzled visage.

Ikharos looked over. "What?"

She fixed him with a studious look. "... If nothing else, my people will receive you well."

"Why would that be?"

"You bear yourself with an air of competence."

Ikharos didn't reply. He idly patted Ifendraneir's flank and looked up. Formora did the same. What sky was visible through the thick canopy was blue and clear. All the clouds had disappeared, leaving only faint wisps of mist in their wake.

"Where do you think she is?" Formora asked.

"Eating," Ikharos grunted. "They're never full. But... I don't think we have to worry just yet. She's playing nice. This arrangement has only just begun - it would be strange for her to break it off now."

"Will she return?"

"Probably."

"You don't sound concerned."

"Trying to keep track of our pet Ahamkara's just going to stress me out. There's not much we can do, apart from killing her. And that defeats the whole purpose of having her with us. I've given up on worrying over it. If she comes back, she comes back. If she doesn't... well, then she doesn't."

"If she doesn't?"

"I'll take care of it," Ikharos darkly promised. There was no humour or exaggeration to be found. She fully believed him.

**000**

Du Weldenvarden was like any forest: it offered safety and danger in equal measure. A perfect place for a fugitive to hide, but there could be others already lurking amongst the colossal trees. It reminded him of jungle-ridden Venus - if Venus was drier, less heat-intensive, and lacking in all things Vex. By contrast, Du Weldenvarden should have been all the more welcoming. But Venus didn't have dragons. He and rest of his people had seen to that.

Alternatively, Vex weren't all that great a problem. Ikharos was wary of them, of course; he'd witnessed just what they were capable of on numerous occasions. But for all their strength, the Vex were predictable. They were predictable because they, by nature, operated on prediction. Not so with dragons.

"I worry," Kiphoris said. Ikharos heard, but he didn't say anything. He wanted Kiphoris to continue and elaborate. The Captain didn't disappoint. "I may be grasping at prizes above mine-worth."

"You're a gambler."

"I do not like gambling."

"A reluctant gambler is a gambler all the same. You gambled. Arke is the result. Now, all we can do is wait to see if it's a gain or a loss."

"You... are not the same as you were."

Ikharos shrugged. "She saved my life. Illogical as it is, and I _know_ it is, I feel... some measure of gratitude. Not much, mind you. Just enough to tolerate her."

"I do not mean that. I mean you. The song affected you too, no?"

Ikharos leaned forward and whispered to Ifendraneir, " _Vëoth_." The horse slowed. Kiphoris walked beside them, completely upright. "Yeah. It affected me. By not affecting me."

"I do not follow."

"Everyone felt it. I didn't. There was a hole in my heart and the song went right through. You felt... what was it again? Energized. Confused. Excited. Anxious. Me? I just mourned."

"For who?"

"Myself." He refused to go on. Ikharos changed the subject. "Arke will return. And we're going to make her swear new oaths. But that's a concern for later. Kiph, we're nearly there. What are we going to do?"

"Bargain with the elves for-"

"Not that. With..." He looked around to ensure no one was listening. The others had already moved ahead. Only Kida was nearby, stoically marching with his sight fixed in front of him. "With 'Mora. She's getting nervous. _I'm_ getting nervous. I don't like being nervous."

"I have given this some thought."

"Then please, tell me."

"We march within, draw the elves into swearing that no hostilities will take place, and then we allow Formora to reveal herself. But she must be quick to explain all. These elves are primitive, but I do not want them as mine-foes."

"That's... too barebones."

"Have you any alternative?"

"... No."

"We must work with this."

"And if it fails?"

"Then I trust you to take charge." Kiphoris sighed. "Formora shall not come to harm. She is valued by mine-house and mine-baron. She is part of mine-crew."

"That's all well and good, but we're in the middle of the elven nation. If things get heated, we'll have to pull drastic measures."

Kiphoris scrutinized him. "What do you have in mind?"

Ikharos hesitated. "I can clear us out of the public eye if we're met with a mob, but the elves know this land better than we do. And they're fast. We're going to need an aerial extraction on standby."

"Tarrhis and Sundrass are not far. They are moving along the edge of the forest. The Scars are within reach."

"That's good. But maybe... I don't know. I'd rather have the getaway Skiff closer than that."

"I will see what I can do."

"Thank you. Truly."

Kiphoris gave a wordless grunt of acknowledgement.

"But you still owe me that ether. _Fastanr_ , Ifendraneir."

The stallion snorted and trotted ahead, leaving Kiphoris behind to loudly grumble to himself. Ikharos smiled. " _I really shouldn't listen to you_."

" _Nah. I give the best advice_."

" _Somehow, I doubt that._ "

" _Are you cheery yet?_ "

" _No._ "

" _Well, if you need any help, remember that's what I'm here for._ "

" _I don't want a charity_ ," Ikharos replied. He caught up with the others. Arya looked over and whispered to her steed. The beast slowed just enough to match Ifandraneir's pace.

"Ikharos," Arya greeted curtly.

"Arya."

"Are you... well?"

That caught him by surprise. He glanced at her, suspiciously, and answered with a hesitant, "Yes?"

"I understand that Dagshelgr was taxing for you."

"I'm... past it. I think. But I would like to know in advance if anything like that will come up during our stay."

"I cannot answer that without knowing how long you intend to remain in Ellesméra."

"A day," Ikharos said. A spike of disapproval rose up from within. He humoured it. "Or maybe a few days. Not long. There's a lot of work ahead of me. I have to ensure the Cabal aren't going to spread any further."

"We need to speak about that."

"About the Cabal? Or-"

"The Cabal."

Ikharos nodded. "Fair."

"In Tronjheim, you professed to fighting them at Ceunon."

"I did. The Cabal captured the city. We, uh, uncaptured it."

"Uncaptured?"

"We drove them out and convinced the civilians to migrate south. The Cabal camp was nearby. Another attack on the city wasn't out of question."

"If they warred with the empire, then perhaps-"

"No," Ikharos firmly warned her. "I know where you're going with this, and no. Cabal don't want allies. They want obedient servants to their own empire. As bad as Galbatorix is, surrendering to the Cabal Legions would only prove worse."

"So you say," Arya muttered.

"I do say. They attacked my people without any reason. They murdered thousands of innocent people. Tens of thousands. The Cabal are _not_ our friends." He paused. "These ones are stranded here, as far as I know. Like I am. Like the Scars are. Whereas an Eliksni will at least hear what you have to say, an Uluru will just shoot you. Trust me."

Arya remained quiet for a long time. Eventually, she asked, "Where are they now?"

"I think they're camping by the crash site of their carrier." When he saw her confusion, Ikharos elaborated. "A ship. A really, really big ship. It's somewhere by the northernmost point of the Spine."

Arya frowned. "How would they reach Ceunon from there?"

"Threshers and Harvesters. Flying vessels, like Eliksni Skiffs. Not quite as fast, and without stealth technology, but they have good armour. Harvesters, in any case. Threshers are a tad more fragile."

"That is... How many?"

"Ships or Cabal?"

"Both."

"Don't know about ships. It all depends on how badly their carrier crashed. They could have anywhere from a hundred to three hundred flight-ready ships. As for Cabal, I'm thinking along the lines of two thousand, give or take."

"They all arrived on one ship?"

"Carriers are monsters. Behemoths. They're designed to ferry entire armies around the Cabal empire."

"That's... too much."

"It is."

She shook her head. "What of the Cabal themselves? What are they like?"

"The Uluru - the rulers of the Cabal empire and primary soldiers of their armies - are big, strong, and... well, smart in some aspects. The Psions, though, would give your people a run for their money. They're naturally paracausal. Magic."

"They are knowledgeable in the ancient language?"

"No. They have their own magic. It's more direct. They call it Intention. They use their mind and willpower to gain control over and utilise the elements Arc and Void."

"Arc and Void?"

Ikharos held up an empty hand. "This." His hand crackled with blue electricity. "And this." The Arc was replaced with purple glow.

Arya didn't understand. A simple glance confirmed it. But she carried on, dutiful to the end. "Will they attack the elves?"

"If they knew about you, yes. They'd want your power, and your ancient language, for their own. It's only the presence of Scars that's keeping them in check. Eliksni have fought the Cabal for a long, long time. And here, far from the empire, the Eliksni have the upper hand against them."

"So the Cabal fear the Scars?"

"They do. In open battle, the Cabal would win. But the Scars are too smart to run headfirst into a brawl."

"There is much I must report to my people," Arya muttered. She raised her voice. "Thank you for telling me. We will take your advice into consideration." She rode ahead.

Ikharos scoffed. " _She's not taking this seriously._ "

" _It's a hard pill to swallow_ ," Xiān admitted. " _You have to give them that._ "

" _I gave her the watered down version. Is that not enough?_ "

" _Even the watered down version is too strong. Just give them time._ "

" _We don't have time. The Cabal could act at any moment. It's nothing short of a miracle that they haven't already._ "

* * *

They made ample progress thanks to the horses. Sílthrim quickly fell behind, and with it the pretense of confidence. Nerves were alight with anxiousness in every corner of the party.

The trip to Ellesméra went without a hitch. Ikharos had no idea how the elves could navigate the maze of trees. It all looked the same to him.

" _We were born here_ ," Formora explained. " _We know forests as dwarves know caves and humans their meadows._ " She tilted her head. " _What do Risen know?_ "

" _The stars_ ," Ikharos replied. " _They keep us on track. Or they did. Kepler's stars are different to those seen from Sol's planets and moons. It's... unsettling._ "

" _The stars unsettle you?_ "

" _They do. They used to be my allies. Now they're strangers to me._ "

" _But now you have new allies._ "

He flashed her a smile. " _That I do. And I'm trusting that they won't lead me astray._ "

She laughed and urged Erdhir onwards.

Much of the journey went similarly. Ikharos wasn't surprised to find that different elements of the group drifted into their own preferred crowds. Eragon and Saphira stayed together every chance they had, and they had a strong friendship with Orik. The elves adored Saphira, and all of them - barring Formora - were always ready to sing her praises.

The elves otherwise talked to themselves. The Eliksni did the same, content to chitter and chirp to one another during the day, but when night fell they were happy to sit with the others and enjoy the company. Ikharos found himself turning to them more than the others. He understood Eliksni - their culture, their drive, their language, and their nature. He didn't get the elves - again, Formora was the exception.

Melkris was cheerful, Obleker was gentle, Javek was curious, and Kiphoris was quiet.

 _Red cloaks are hard to make out in the dark_ , Ikharos reflected one night. He took a draught of an ether flask and passed it on to Javek. The Splicer murmured his thanks. The campfire reflected off the steel canteen. The flames warped and stretched as they danced across the silver surface. _Makes it easier to forget the Devils ever existed._

Kiphoris, as ever, was checking his equipment and cleaning it out. He'd wiped down his already spotless sword and had turned to the matter of his pistols.

"Why not a shrapnel launcher?" Ikharos asked on a whim. Kiphoris looked up, outer eyes half-lidded. "Most Captains use them."

"I am not most Captains." Kiphoris reloaded a pistol with a fresh battery. "The Awoken were an inspiration to me. One does not have to be large to be dangerous. A Corsair is equal in a fight to any Vandal brimming with ether-growth."

"But you _are_ large."

"Was not in the Network." Kiphoris went quiet for some time. He put the firearm aside and stared into the flames. "Size does not matter to Vex. Only ability. Only speed. Only a cunning mind. I entered a Vandal. I emerged as starved as a Wretch. But I won as a Wretch. I won over the Vex. I escaped them. I escaped their madness because I was quick and I was smart."

"Now smart, quick, _and_ large!" Melkris called down from above. The shockshooter was situated up on a tree branch, wire rifle in hand. It was his turn to stand watch.

" _Eia_ , exactly." Kiphoris chuckled. It was soft sound, but it felt all the more real because of it. "I must be fast. I must be clever. That is how I have survived. It is how I will continue to survive. Mine-strength is useful, but strength can fade."

"So can speed," Ikharos pointed out. "If you get tired, you'll be forced to buckle."

"How would strength help me? I am fast. I need to be, for I am all that remains of the Silent Fang. If I need to turn to strength, then I shall trust in my sword arm. I do not bear a shrapnel launcher for there is no finesse in its power. And I am an _eliko_ dedicated to finesse."

Ikharos pressed his back against the trunk of Melkris's tree and looked up. It was instinctual, even after all the months of traversing Kepler. The stars still called to him.

"Where's Riis?" He asked. "From here?"

"I don't think we can see it," Javek professed. "It is too far. And..."

"And the Hive's tampering quickened our star's death," Kiphoris finished. "There is nothing left to reclaim but a world of rock and ice. No Kells, no kingdoms, no Great Machine. Riis is gone. And we Eliksni are cursed to wander the abyss between worlds forever more."

"... What if you stayed?" Ikharos inquired. He battled with himself internally. The side that demanded he speak up won out. "This world is large enough, and there's plenty of land left unclaimed. And it's rich in organic compounds for ether production, so..."

"I already thought of that. I think I would like it," Kiphoris murmured, "but we will have to wait until these wars are ended. So many wars. It is just like Sol."

"Just like Sol," Ikharos echoed. He closed his eyes and focused on the feel of the living wood at his back, and the hard dirt beneath him, and the warmth of the fire at his front. "No. It's better."

Kiphoris snorted - an alien sound, and one that should have given rise to killer instinct.

Ikharos couldn't care less.

* * *

He knew they were close to Ellesméra when the air twinged with the effects of magic. Ikharos kept his guard up and warily reached out with his Light test the threads of causality around them. Whatever it was, it was too faint to get a read on. He relayed his discovery to Formora, who rode beside him.

"It means we are almost upon Ellesméra," she told him. "We have activated wards. Our arrival will be anticipated."

"That's a good use of magic," he admitted. "Teach me that ward later. And Javek. That'd come in handy."

Formora laughed. Even heard through her helmet's vocal scrambler, it was pleasant on the ear. "Trust you to only think of the martial applications!"

"In all seriousness, that's the kind of magic we need. What happened in Ceunon won't repeat itself if we can discern where an attack is coming from. It works with Shades, right?"

"Most likely."

"Good, good."

"For now, be alert."

Ikharos nodded. He could do that.

It was late afternoon when Melkris spotted the elf. The shockshooter raced back and reported it through a series of excited clicks and barks.

Upon receiving the translated, edited version, Arya directed her horse forward. "We must meet him, or we will never enter the city."

She and the other elves went on without another word.

After some prodding, Formora explained it to him. " _It must be a sentinel of House Miolandra. They guard our cities against those who would see us come to harm._ "

" _How did he know where..._ " Ikharos shook his head. " _The ward._ "

" _Indeed._ "

" _That was quick._ "

The elf waited for them in a sunlit glade. He wore flowing white robes and a silver circlet over his brow. His hair was the exact same shade of silver. He stood still, eyes half-closed and face graced with a knowing smile. Next to him was what Ikharos could only describe as a feathered dragon, itself crouched over the prone form of a dead stag.

"Great Machine!" Kiphoris gasped.

The new dragon was not only Saphira's size, but of the same body-shape. It had four limbs ending in talons, two long wings, a powerful tail, and a pointed skull supported on a strong neck.

The unfamiliar beast was covered entirely in a thick coat of feathers. Most of the coat was black, with streaks of silver running across the wings, but the feathers became bright blue and rich purple at the base of the creature's throat. Its jaws were slimmer than the Saphira's too, with thinner, sharper teeth designed to rip rather than crush peeking out the sides. Its wings were shaped like those of a bird of prey rather than a bat, as it was with Fanghur and dragons. And instead of grand horns and back spines, it merely had two long quills running from the back of its head to flutter in the air like ribbons.

It had four lidless serpentine eyes, two on each side of its skull. They were all completely golden, broken only by the razor-thin slits of all-seeing pupils.

"Arke," Ikharos realized.

Taking it as a greeting, the Ahamkara dipped her head. "Child of Light."

The elf beside her didn't appear bothered by her presence. Something about him was off. Ikharos knew, from a mere glance, that it wasn't a true person. Nor was it an Ahamkara's illusion. Arke was strong enough to offer up a better trick than that.

" _A hologram of some sort_ ," Ikharos decided.

" _No_ ," Xiān disagreed. " _His breath is misting in front of him. His feet have sunk into the dirt. A two-way simulation engine. Like the kind Pirrha used._ "

" _Equipment of that sort is rare. And expensive._ "

" _And this bloke has it._ "

His attention returned to Arke. She had her jaws locked around one of the stag's legs and effortlessly tore it off. She ate it all in a series of bone-shattering bites. She had not grown in size alone. Ikharos could feel her wish-magic chafing against his Light. It thrummed with potential. He pulled the nullscape over his mind like a fire blanket.

"You have... grown," Kiphoris observed. "Like a Dreg fed the stores of a High Servitor. How is it this came to be?"

"Dagshelgr," she replied. "The Day of Desire."

Ikharos wasn't surprised. "Did you kill anyone? Anything?"

Arke looked down at the dead buck. "Yes."

"During Dagshelgr."

"No."

"Who's your friend?"

Her gaze flicked over to the elf. "Gilderien the Wise."

Gilderien continued to smile.

Arke's attention turned back to the carcass. Her teeth sliced through flesh and gristle like superheated hadium-steel knives. She dwarfed all but Saphira, and Ikharos was torn on what to do.

" _We're in trouble either way_ ," Xiān pointed out. " _It's just a question of which option boasts the better rewards._ "

" _If she turns..._ "

" _We just need to hope that the magic holding her is still intact. And then add on more oaths._ "

" _We're building an iron-barred cage, but she's a serpent. All she has to do is find a space large enough to slither through._ "

In the end, Kiphoris made the decision. He stepped forth and barked, "Arke. You will not leave again."

She looked up, maw stained red. "As you decree, Dreamer."

Nothing happened. No one moved, no one did anything. Arke returned to her meal. The strange simulated elf stood in the same place with the same knowing expression and waited.

"Arke," Ikharos began. "Move away from him."

She grasped the buck in her jaws and stalked twenty feet to the left, where she dropped the carcass and went back to dismembering it.

"... That _thing_ cannot enter Ellesméra," Arya warned fiercely.

"What do you propose we do?" Ikharos asked. She gave him a look that told him exactly what she wanted. "No. No, I've had enough close calls this trip. I'm here to protect, not to do your dirty work. I'm not putting my neck on the line because you demand it."

"It cannot-"

"I heard you. I'm not going to try it."

Kiphoris twirled around and glared at Arya. "She is not yours to kill. Her fate is in the hands of the Scar House, not elves."

"She is-"

"She has behaved well. She has committed no crime and inflicted no harm. And she opposed the two Wish-Beasts who sought your demise."

Arya grimaced. " _That_ is why she cannot enter Ellesméra. Those _things_ are... are abominations!"

Saphira separated from the group and cautiously made her way over to the Ahamkara. Ikharos watched them closely, Lumina in hand. Arke looked up, saw Saphira coming, and made some room. The dragon's tail swished to and fro over the forest floor excitedly. Their heads closed in on one another and their snouts touched. After a moment, they pulled back and studied one another. Satisfied, Arke nudged the bloodied stag over. Saphira made a chuffing sound and eagerly ripped a scrap of bloody meat from the carcass. They set about tearing the body apart, dividing the flesh between them.

Not a word was uttered. Unless they were speaking to one another's thoughts, then the entire exchange was one expressed through body language. Arke was an Ahamkara, capable of incredible illusion, but even then fooling another creature of paracausal design was... difficult at best.

" _That confirms my earlier hypothesis_ ," Ikharos drily remarked. " _Dragons must indeed be part Ahamkara._ "

Xiān made the mental equivalent of a frown. "What's so funny?"

" _Saphira's my opposite. She's a creature originating from paracausal elements forced into a causal form. I'm a causal being uplifted by a paracausal force. The dragons really got the short end of the stick._ " He paused. " _I wonder why they'd do that to themselves?_ "

" _Maybe it wasn't them. Something else could have forced it on them._ "

" _Perhaps. But it'd need to be strong to do that. And Nezarec's the only thing to come to mind._ "

" _There was Morgothal and Merenos._ "

" _Merenos wasn't a dragon. They might have struck a bond, but they were both very much a Risen and an Ahamkara after the wish was made corporeal._ " He turned around. "Arke's coming with us. She'll be on her best behaviour."

"How can you be certain?" Arya challenged.

"Because I'll tell her to."

Arke lifted her bloodied snout. "Death will not visit Ellesméra on this day."

Saphira tore off one of the stag's last legs. Arke clamped down on the other end of the limb. It snapped into two in a grisly display. Orik muttered a curse. Eragon flinched. Javek and Kiphoris were unreadable, but Melkris appeared nothing short of envious. The elves averted their eyes.

"Gilderien?" Kiphoris addressed the simulated elf. "I understand that you guard the way to Ellesméra."

The elf said nothing.

"Eragon," Arya began. Her voice was cold and reserved, betraying nothing. It didn't matter. Ikharos had a fair idea how she felt. "Show him your palm and ring."

Eragon hesitated and looked at Saphira. After a moment, he trudged forward and held out his hand so that both his bejeweled ring and gedwëy ignasia were visible. Gilderien smiled, opened his arms as if to embrace the Rider, and closed his eyes.

"The way is clear," Celdin quietly announced. "Ellesméra awaits."

Ikharos returned to Ifendraneir and mounted up. The elf-horse nervously flicked its ears, eyeing both the dragon and Ahamkara with uneasy fear. Ikharos whispered assurances and patted the stallion's shoulder. " _Gánga fram_ ," he murmured. Ifendraneir trotted forward, eager to leave the massive predators behind.

No such luck. Saphira and Arke devoured what remained of the buck and strode back over to the party. Saphira walked alongside Eragon while Arke kept pace with the Eliksni. A forked tongue flicked out of the Ahamkara's jaws to clean away the blood matting the feathers of her snout.

They carried on in muted uncertainty. Gone was the easy, laid back atmosphere that had reigned during the beginning of their north-bound hike. He looked behind them and chanced upon the sight of Gilderien fading from view. " _Simulation tech for sure. That, or these elves have powerful dragon-magic of their own._ "

A quarter of a mile down the line, the forest opened up into a pleasant flower-strewn glade that looked too perfect to be natural. Ikharos's eyes roamed around. At first he noticed nothing, but little strange patterns began to reveal themselves. Forest trails branched out like alleys and walkways through the trees, connecting to what he imagined was a central street.

"We're arrived," Formora whispered reverently.

And they had. The trees were not natural growths - they were beautiful buildings carefully guided into strange forms, complete with darkened doorways and windows. Bushes and shrubs were there in place of fences around lovingly cultivated gardens. Everything was both cooperating with the forest and yet held onto unique, otherworldly traits that made them stand out. Ikharos knew it to be an elven city, for no other people could build such a thing. Not even the similarly ethereal Awoken, who favoured architecture formed of marble and crystal.

The residents of Ellesméra were slow to show themselves, but Ikharos knew they were there. Lifetimes spent on the lookout for Eliksni shockshooters enabled him to pick out the figures that hid themselves amongst the trees and bushes.

In short time their shyness faded, and the wary elves stepped into the sunlight filtering through the sparse canopy above. Each and every one of them, men and women both, possessed an elegance and exotic beauty that only the Awoken could ever challenge. Ikharos couldn't help but feel as if he'd stepped into Kepler's own version of the Reef. It both excited and unnerved him. It had taken him a long time to grow accustomed to the ways of Reef, and now he had to learn the traditions and expectations of yet another secretive people.

" _You managed to slip into Reef society without issue_ ," Xiān pointed out. " _You'll do the same here. I know you will._ "

" _I don't want to live with these people._ "

" _Why not?_ "

The question stumped him. He had to scramble for an answer. " _Because there's a war to be fought_."

" _And when that war is over? When Nezarec is dead and Kepler is safe?_ "

" _Then we go home._ "

Xiān's disapproval arrived as a single bitter pulse. " _No. I don't know about you, but I'm getting tired of war. Scratch that, I_ do _know about you. You're as exhausted as I am. We've earned ourselves a respite._ "

" _We can't-_ "

" _We can. Jaxson has Sol well in hand. Between him and Rasputin, what could go wrong?_ "

Ikharos disagreed, but he waved the issue away with a " _Let's talk about this later._ "

" _Fine. But we_ will _talk about it._ "

The people of Ellesméra stared: at Saphira, at Arke, at Kida, at the Eliksni, at Arya, at Obleker, and at him. As one, the elves bowed from the waist in perfect synchrony. Then, the tension broken, they smiled and laughed and sang with open glee in both English and the ancient language.

"Release your steeds," Arya announced stiffly. "We have no further need of them and they deserve to rest in our stables."

Ikharos dismounted and affectionately ran his hand along Ifendraneir's neck. He had come to adore the horse and was reluctant to part with it, but the animal deserved its rest. " _Gánga vera_ ," he whispered. " _Un atra wyrda grónna vel onr._ "

Ifendraneir snorted and left with the other horses. They disappeared somewhere in the crowd lining the forest-street. Ikharos followed his companions onwards, listening to the glorious melodies and finding them wanting. He watched the elves dance and flit across the trail before and behind them, a thin smile fixed on his face while his eyes searched for the faintest hint of hostility. There were too many people - too many elves - and it only heightened his unease. They were happy, but a happy mob was never to last.

" _This is why you and parades don't mix_ ," Xiān snarked.

He didn't deny it. " _The sooner we're done, the better_."

" _Killjoy._ "

Saphira was the focus of the elves, considering they praised Saphira with names like ' _Longclaws_ ' and ' _Daughter of Air and Fire_ ' and ' _Strong One_ ,' but Arke received her own share of attention. The Ahamkara preened with all the compliments they lavished on her, despite clearly not being a scalebound as Saphira was. It was disconcerting to see all the adoration fall upon a Wish-Dragon.

At the very least, it would distract her and keep her occupied while he and Kiphoris devised further oaths with which to chain her.

The Eliksni were not ignored, but they were left in peace. Ikharos imagined that they preferred that. The three marched on with their eyes facing forward and heads held high, cloaks trailing after them. Obleker moved behind them, utterly alien. Kida took up the rear, armed with his rifle. His broken arm was held together only by a soldered cast, but the function in the hand had been reinstalled. Javek's engineering skills were top notch.

His attention quickly turned to the last member of his supposed crew. Formora walked stiffly, keeping her head down as if to hide herself.

" _Don't look so glum._ " Ikharos moved to her side. He was rewarded with a sharp look. " _You alright?_ "

" _No!_ " She snapped. Her tone quickly softened. " _No. This is... too much._ "

" _I can imagine_."

" _Can you?_ "

" _... How you're feeling would be along the lines of what I would if I returned to the Last City._ "

" _But that's your home._ "

" _No._ " He shook his head. " _Hasn't been for two, maybe three years. Remember, I lived in the Reef before arriving here_."

" _Why?_ "

" _Because I was... unwelcome_."

" _Unwelcome? Why?_ "

Ikharos clenched his jaw. " _I... did something. Organized a mission. And people died. So yes, I can imagine what you're going through._ " He added, more softly: " _Just remember the plan._ "

" _There's a plan?_ "

" _Sort of. Stick by me. Kiphoris has called the Scars and updated them on what's happening. If anything goes awry and negotiations fall short, Sundrass will be here with Skiffs to collect us._ "

" _That's hardly comforting. In Ceunon, she wanted nothing more than to see you dead._ "

" _Then let's hope that time has cooled that temper of hers._ "

The forest-street ended at a net of roots that formed steps, like bare pools of earth. They climbed to a door embedded within a wall of saplings. They opened seemingly on their own, almost convincing Ikharos that the elves weren't as bereft of tech as he'd previously assumed. Arya, Eragon, and Saphira took the lead. Ikharos followed close behind.

His hand never strayed far from the Lumina. He didn't trust the peace he saw before him. It was too perfect.

The hall was made of tree trunks twisting together to form walls and curving overhead to create a ceiling of interlocking branches. Below lay a long, thin oval table, around which were twenty-four chairs, upon which sat twenty-four elven lords and ladies. They were richly dressed and all bore sheathed swords at their hips. All twenty-four leaned forward and stared at Saphira and the rest of the oddities in their group with wondrous, hopeful smiles.

At the end of the table was a throne of knotted roots. Upon it sat an elven woman that Ikharos knew without a doubt was Queen Islanzadí. She was proud and graceful, dressed in red finery and a cloak of pale feathers. Her hair was jet black and her eyes emerald. She held in her hand a sceptre with a wide crosspiece, upon which perched a white raven.

If she was the elven answer to Mara Sov, she was every bit as imposing and elegant as the Awoken Queen. And utterly devoid of the easy strength and imperious presence Mara carried at all times.

Islanzadí's eyes widened with surprise and emotion. Her gaze was fixed on Arya.

" _Wyrda_!" The raven croaked. Its voice was scratchy and dry with age. It looked him over with one beady eye.

The doors closed shut behind them. Some - Eragon, Arya, Celdin, Narí, Lifaen, Orik, and even Saphira - bowed. The rest remained standing. Kiphoris almost drew his knives to perform the _irellis_ bow, but a quick gesture from Formora stopped him in his tracks.

Islanzadí stood and descended from the throne, her cloak trailing behind her. She stopped before Arya, placed trembling hands on her shoulders, and said in a gentle, shaking voice, "Rise."

Arya did so in one fluid movement. Islanzadí stared at her for a very long time. Then she suddenly cried out and embraced Arya, saying, "O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

The rest of his party, barring the elves, stirred with surprise. Ikharos, as he already knew, was only taken aback by the outburst. _No Sov, that's for sure._

"Islanzadí Dröttning," Arya returned in a neutral, almost detached voice.

The elven queen recoiled as if struck. She repeated, "O my daughter, I have wronged you," and covered her face as if to hide herself. "Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made... Can you forgive me?"

Ikharos was left flabbergasted. Most of the monarchs he'd met were of the cold, calculating sort - or they were genocidal tyrants. And every single one of them was a killer through and through. He'd forgotten what it looked like when mortals took the reigns.

 _Kepler is not Sol_ , he reminded himself. _It has no Sovs, no Osmium dynasty, no Warlords, no Broodqueens, no Dominus, no wannabe Kell-of-Kells. This world is soft. Krinok and the Cabal are going to roll right over everyone - if Nezarec doesn't do it first._

Arya's response was long in coming, but at last she said, "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long, but even so, that is no small span."

Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin and pulling away her hands. She trembled. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

"And I cannot forget what I endured."

"Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with you."

For a second, Ikharos almost thought Arya would refuse; from what little he had picked up, he would even support her in doing so. _What could drive someone to exile their own child?_

But, in the end, she gave in. Arya lowered her eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave."

Islanzadí favoured her with a faltering, unsure smile and embraced her once more. Arya stiffly returned it. Cheers rang out amongst the watching elves.

The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore; let us never do but to adore!"

"Hush, Blagden," said Islanzadí to the raven in a remarkably more cheery voice. "Keep your doggerel to yourself." She turned to address the rest of them.

Formora's mind reached for Ikharos's. He automatically allowed the mental connection to form. " _Let the others go firs_ _t_ ," she said quickly.

" _Of course_."

Islanzadí said, to Saphira and Arke, "You must excuse me for being discourteous and ignoring you, our most important guests."

Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum.

"Islanzadí Dröttning. _Atra esterní ono thelduin_."

The queen's eyes widened. " _Atra du evarínya ono varda_."

" _Un atra mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr_ ," Eragon replied, completing the ritual.

Islanzadí's smile grew more sincere. She asked, "And you, o dragon, what is your name?"

" _Saphira._ "

"Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, young Rider?"

"Eragon."

"You carry a powerful name," Islanzadí said softly, "and one that we rarely bestow upon our children... Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon. We have waited long for you."

Then, inexplicably, she passed over Kiphoris - though not without a thoughtful look at the Captain - for Ikharos. "And you, noble Rider?"

His mind drew a blank. "I... excuse me?"

"Ikharos is not a Rider," Arya said quickly.

Islanzadí frowned and looked past him. "Then what-"

"And Arke is not a dragon."

The Ahamkara snaked her head forward so that she leaned over him. "Unless he wishes it," she offered in a sweet, flanged voice. It wasn't just the elves who recoiled with fright.

"Quiet," Ikharos muttered darkly. "Now."

Arke laughed and pulled back, but the damage was done. What high spirits had been raised with Arya's return was cast aside as the novelty of a speaking, feathered dragon fell upon those gathered.

In an effort to keep the situation from devolving into a mess - or more than it already had - Ikharos raised two fingers to his lips and said, " _Eka eld kvetha onr, ai dauthné vinyalen abr Sol eom aí älfa dröttning abr Kepler. Atra esterní ono thelduin_ _._ "

It meant: _I greet you, as deathless spellcaster of Sol to an elven queen of Kepler. May good fortune rule over you._ As there was no term for Warlock in the ancient language, he had reluctantly settled for spellcaster. It only furthered the false notion of being a common wizard, much to his chagrin.

Islanzadí didn't immediately reply. She stared at him. They all did. He could face bellowing Ogres and screaming Witches, but this... this was too much. Ikharos respectfully bowed his head - she wouldn't get anything more than that - and bade them, " _Eka eddyr baenelí ëfa iet kvetha eru néiat nógr. Líka thorta medh Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir abr du Heim abr Kelekhselen. Älfr hethr kuasta aí lang lund eom maeta du älfya._ "

It strained his knowledge of the ancient language, but it sounded right to his ears and mind. It translated as: _I am sorry if my greetings are not enough. Please speak with Kiphoris-Veskirisk of the House of Scar. He has come a long way to meet the elves._

Some looked over to Kiphoris, who stepped forward and similarly lowered his head. But Islanzadí, and many others, did not. They looked at Arke or Ikharos with shocked expressions.

"You call yourself deathless?" She asked uncertainly.

Ikharos chanced a look at Arya. The glare he had grown so used to was gone, replaced by a cold, merciless look. She was waiting for an answer, same as the rest of them. No help there.

"Deathless, as I have been made aware, is not the true translation of that word," he said carefully. "But deathless is often a term associated with my kind."

"Your kind?"

"Risen. My kind are called the Risen. Because we..." He shook his head. "It's not important. I am here to assist Kiphoris in his endeavours as an ambassador to his people, with whom I am allied. I implore you to treat his presence here as more important and deserving of attention than mine." He gestured to the Captain.

At last, Islanzadí's unreadable gaze switched targets, but Ikharos was under no illusion that their conversation was over. She looked Kiphoris over and said, "Never, all my life, have I encountered a creature such as you. Who are you?"

He drew his knifes. Islanzadí stepped back, but a quick gesture from Arya calmed the elves before they could respond in kind. Kiphoris performed the _irellis_ bow with the same dignity and fluidity as he had before Hrothgar. He placed one of the knives on the ground pointed towards him and sheathed the other. "In the ways of mine-people, the Eliksni, I have proclaimed that our meeting will be one of honour-bound peace."

Islanzadí slowly nodded and smiled. "Thus I swear to you, _né haina weohnata kuasta eom onr undir iet hjall_."

Satisfied, Kiphoris brought two fingers against the front of his rebreather. " _Velask_. Greetings, _Islanzadí-kel_. I am _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_ , servant of _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_ and the noble House of Scar. Mine-companions here are _Melkris-Va'h_ a, _Javek-Va'se_ , _Zeshus_ , _Ikha Riis pak Kirzen_ , _Kida-Ma'ha_ , and _Obleker-Sava_."

"I welcome you all," Islanzadí replied. "As I do you, dwarf," she said to Orik. She retreated to the knotted throne. "I suspect there are a great many tales to be heard on this day. I would hear them. I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured, and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hip, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden. And _Kiphoris-Veskirisk pak Drakkir_ , I wish to hear the reasons for your people's arrival or resurgence in Alagaësia, whichever it may be. And then, I wish to learn of you." Islanzadí's sight settled on Arke. "You who my daughter names as not a dragon, despite your form. You who speaks the human tongue as no dragon ever could."

Ikharos withheld a wince. She spoke with all the wrong words. The only thing keeping her alive were the oaths binding Arke and keeping the Ahamkara from jumping upon the spoken wishes.

Eragon began his story. Ikharos, who had previously heard only a rudimentary rendition from Tellesa, listened closely. The young Rider described his discovery of Saphira's egg, her hatching and their bond, and the months he spent hiding her as she grew up. He went on to tell of the arrival of the Ra'zac - at which Kiphoris muttered " _Bone-Pickers_ " - and his flight from Carvahall. He mentioned the brief encounter he had with Ikharos before that, which drew highly undesired attention onto Ikharos.

"You were in Carvahall?" Arya questioned.

"I was," he admitted. "Tellesa, Edmont, and I passed through. We were tracking the Shade Durza and his Urgals to kill them in retribution for the slaughter at Kuasta."

"What occured in Kuasta?" One of the elven lords inquired.

Ikharos closed his eyes. "Death. Wholesale death. An Urgal army marched in and killed everyone in the region. Durza led them. I imagine it came on Galbatorix's command, because the populous there had managed to extricate themselves from Imperial control."

"They killed... everyone?" Another noble cried out, horrified.

"They did," Ikharos confirmed. "All that they found. Only the monks of the Arcaena and a handful of rebels survived. Tellesa and Edmont were among those lucky few. And they wanted revenge." He gestured for Eragon to carry on.

The young Rider did just that. He detailed the journey from Carvahall to Teirm, where they met Jeod and recruited Tellesa to their cause, and then to the trek to Dras-Leona. He quickly went over the events that transpired in the city and then outside, when they were captured by the Ra'zac.

"We were helpless," Eragon professed. "But then Kiphoris arrived."

The Captain grunted. "I picked up their scent and yours and ordered mine-Eliksni to follow. The Bone-Pickers fled before us."

"The Eliksni accompanied us, and Murtagh, further, but Brom had taken injury." Eragon's voice fell in volume. "He did not survive it."

"He will be dearly missed," Islanzadí stated. "He was a dear friend to the elves. But this name - Murtagh - is familiar to me."

"It was Murtagh, son of Morzan," Arya explained.

The sorrow in the room fled before the sudden universal rage. As one, the elves adopted hard, cold looks. "Morzan!" Islanzadí cried out. "A monster in the form of a man! How is it you came to be in the company of the heir of the first and last of the Forsworn?!"

Ikharos couldn't help but glance in Formora's direction. She was stock still. He couldn't even tell if she was breathing.

"He was fleeing the empire," Eragon quickly replied. "He became a friend-in-arms, and without his help I doubt I would be here today."

The elves remained quiet, so Eragon continued. "Kiphoris left us with two Eliksni guards to see us to safety. We journeyed from there to Gil'ead, where Brom told me an agent of the Varden waited." He told of how Urgals appeared, and how they captured him but handed him over to the Imperials within the city. It was there that he discovered Arya's presence within the prison, and on the night that Paltis, Murtagh, and Saphira arrived to rescue him, they took the unconscious Arya with them. From there it was a straight run to the Beors, and it was by sheer luck that the Varden and dwarves managed to pull them out of the possessed Urgals' grasp. At last, he explained how the Varden had suffered without the aid of the elves and how close the battle of Farthen Dûr had been. He removed a sealed scroll from his bag and offered it up.

Islanzadí took it and broke the seal, rolling it open and reading it. She sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish..."

Ikharos frowned. He suddenly saw what Formora did. The flaws in the otherwise pristine charade before him were starting to become glaringly obvious. For all their beauty and skill, the elves were wholly unprepared for anything approaching violence. He scarcely managed to bite his tongue before he could speak his mind.

He was angry. Irrationally so, and he knew it. The Varden weren't his people, weren't his faction, but they weren't his enemies either. And the elves left them to die. It was despicable.

" _The problem with monarchies_ ," he thought, " _is that you either have a strong ruler or a poor one. I think I know which the elves have._ "

" _That didn't take you lon_ g," Xiān quipped.

" _More's the pity. Here I was hoping for someone with a shred of common sense. These people aren't going to be any help to me. I'm stuck with the Eliksni._ "

" _That's not such a bad thing, really_."

" _There's a distinct lack of human interaction._ "

" _I'm sure alien interaction will substitute just fine._ "

"Since Arya has returned alive," Eragon cautiously began, "will you agree to help the Varden, like before? Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I am pledged to her cause."

"My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," Islanzadí said. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She leaned forward on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Without hesitation, the Rider pulled it off his finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped."

 _If their alliance with the Varden is any indication, then that won't mean much_ , Ikharos bitterly reflected. He crossed his arms.

"As newcomers and new allies, I feel it is only right that I hear you next," Islanzadí told Kiphoris. "Who are you, truly, and where do you come from?"

The Captain blinked his outer eyes. " _Eia_ , perhaps. I am Kiphoris of the _Kelekhselen_ , or ' _stern sires_ ,' but in the human tongue you may refer to us as the House of Scar. We are the Eliksni, the people of home-Riis."

"What brings you here?"

"We were hunted by the Hive - demons of unparalleled cruelty. They destroyed the home of mine-people. The Houses who survived live in exile of Riis, for nothing is left but death and ruin. We have arrived upon your lands after we met the Cabal in battle."

"The Cabal?"

"They're another intelligent species," Ikharos offered. "Sophisticated brutes with a liking for explosions."

They were hardly satisfied with his explanation, that much was clear, but Kiphoris went on before they could field further inquiries.

"Our Ketch, our home-ship, took damage during the battle," he explained. "And we landed upon Alagaësia. Mine-Skiffs, mine-ships, landed near the human city Dras Leona. The Great Machine must have looked favourably upon us, for it was there that we found Eragon and Saphira Wind-Daughter."

"You... sailed to Dras-Leona?" One of the nobles asked incredulously.

Kiphoris shook his head. " _Nama_. Flew."

"Eliksni ships can fly," Arya reported in that same blank tone. "And they do so without wings."

"How is this possible?" Islanzadí asked, disbelief written across her features.

Kiphoris, in turn, looked at Ikharos. He sighed and stepped up to offer his own insight. "Skiffs and Ketches fly by exerting enough force to overcome the grip of gravity. Cabal vessels and Risen jumpships do the same."

He said too much. Ikharos knew it when Arya quickly turned around and asked, in the biting tone he knew so well, "You have a ship?"

"I _did_ ," he answered honestly. "I, uh, ran into the same problem as the Eliksni and Cabal. It took too much damage and I was forced to land. Or crash, more like. It's beyond repair."

"You are not from Alagaësia," Islanzadí stated. It wasn't a question.

"No."

Silence ensued. Kiphoris once more took advantage of it to recollect what had happened on his end. "After leaving Eragon and Saphira, mine-crews and I regrouped with the rest of those who follow Tarrhis, our Baron. We did battle with the Cabal once more at Ceunon. It was there we encountered _Ikha Riis_ and _Zeshus_." He didn't cover their duel or the Exo and Shade attack, which Ikharos was grateful for. Those would have been extraordinarily hard to explain. "We aligned our causes and left Ceunon to hunt down the Shade. Our search for it led us to Farthern Dûr, where _Ikha Riis_ slew Durza and mine-crew beat back the Urgal army."

"You killed a Shade?" Yet another elf asked.

Ikharos nodded. "Yeah. For good this time. I crushed his heart."

As one, the elves beamed giddily. Two or three even applauded him. The same speaker from earlier said, "You have done Alagaësia a great service by removing such evil from the land."

Ikharos shrugged. "He deserved to die, so I stepped up. Nothing remarkable about it."

"If I may," the noblewoman closest to them gingerly raised a hand. She scrutinized Ikharos's face. "How did you come by that terrible mark?"

He instinctively reached up. "This was..." He sucked in a deep breath. "This was the work of an Aphelion. They're predators of the highest calibre, though I don't know what it is exactly that they eat. The Eliksni call them Star-Eaters. I managed to kill the creature responsible, but only just." _And I never want to see another one again._

That tidbit of information didn't elicit quite the same reaction as news of Durza's death. The elves frowned, either with confusion or disapproval. Some even mixed the two together with limited success.

"Our causes have become one," Kiphoris announced, indicating himself and Ikharos. "And it coincides with yours. We, Scars and Risen, seek to oppose the human empire and topple Galbatorix. Tarrhis-Mrelliks has sworn it so."

"This news is welcome indeed," Islanzadí said. "But what drives you to do so? Why would your people partake in this terrible war on our behalf?"

Kiphoris growled, and deeply. "Galbatorix's soldiers attacked mine-crew. His Shade slew one of mine-Eliksni - one of mine-friends. He has drawn our anger. We will retaliate. We must. It is a matter of honour."

"Then we will welcome your assistance," the queen decreed. Then Islanzadí addressed Orik: "It has been long since one of your race entered our halls, dwarf. Eragon-finiarel has explained your presence, but do you have aught to add?"

Orik grunted. He appeared thoroughly unimpressed with all that he saw. "Only royal greetings from my king, Hrothgar, and a plea, now unneeded, for you to resume contact with the Varden. Beyond that, I am here to see that the pact that Brom forged between you and the humans is honoured."

"We keep our promises whether we utter them in this language or in the ancient language. I accept Hrothgar's greetings and return them in kind." Finally, Islanzadí turned to Arya and said to her, "Now, daughter, what befell you?"

Arya began to speak in a slow monotone, first of her capture and then of her long imprisonment and torture in Gil'ead. She found no difficulty in describing the horrors she had endured, but Ikharos knew otherwise. The empty voice, the cold mask, and the shaking hand were all the hallmarks of trauma. He'd seen similar things in Guardians who'd spent too long on Luna.

Ikharos's anger fell away as hard realization set in. _That's why she's so confrontational. Traveler above..._

He felt awful. The chilling feeling of guilt weighed him down and forcibly dragged him from the comfortable burn of outrage.

The elves remained completely silent throughout Arya's tale, although they gripped their swords and their faces hardened into razor lines of terrible anger. A single tear rolled down Islanzadí's cheek.

Afterward, a lithe elf lord paced along the mossy sward between the chairs. "I know that I speak for us all, Arya Dröttningu, when I say that my heart burns with sorrow for your ordeal. It is a crime beyond apology, mitigation, or reparation, and Galbatorix must be punished for it. Also, we are in your debt for keeping the locations of our cities hidden from the Shade. Few of us could have withstood him for so long."

"Thank you, _Däthedr-vor_ ," she replied lifelessly.

Islanzadí slowly rose up. "Enough. Our guests wait tired on their feet, and we have spoken of evil things for far too long. I will not have this occasion marred by lingering on past injuries."

Kiphoris spoke up. "There is another matter, _Islanzadí-kel_."

" _Oh crap. Here we go._ "

" _Xiān, be ready._ " Ikharos's fingers twitched by his side. His sight swept across the room. " _If this goes bad, we're out of here. Do we have enough Light?_ "

" _More than enough._ "

Formora, hesitated, then stepped forward. She stopped by the front of the group, leaving ample room between her and the other elves. "I... _Islanzadí Dröttning_ , _eka kuasta medh mor'ranr un ristvak_. _Eka malabra né haina eom annr unin thornessa dras_." She paused and, after a moment of inaction, she removed her helm. "I am Formora, formerly of House Rílvenar."

Ten seconds. Ten seconds of sheer silence and nothing else. Then, with an explosive effort, at least half the elves present drew their weapons and leapt forward. Arke laughed hysterically.

"Shit." Ikharos's arm shot out and he grabbed Formora's shoulder. He grasped at the Void within, forced into cold air of reality and-

They were gone.

**000**

Neirim came and went. He was a cold-eyed Psion of few words - Neuroc's favoured assassin. He didn't say a thing as he collected the explosives and ferried them away.

Zhonoch's heart was heavy with regret. Too many Uluru had been claimed by the cult. It was a horrible waste of valuable talent. Even once they were all dealt with, there would be repercussions. Umun'arath would doubtless order a decimation as recompense for the loss of a favoured general - and that was just for the Worldbreakers.

Zhonoch didn't know what would happen to his beloved Soulrazers. It could even be the excuse the Praetorate needed to knock them down a rung, if not destroy them altogether.

"This has ruined us," Zhonoch glumly reported later, as he stood in the centre of the Soulrazer armoury.

Tlac scoffed. "Only if we let it. Arms up. Marack! Get his suit."

The Uluru quartermaster rushed to obey. He and two of his assistants dragged out a crate and opened it up, revealing the battleshell within.

Zhonoch had two sets of armour. One was standard Soulrazer gear, similar to what the Vals used. The second set was special. Mark IX Vigilant-class body armour. It was the sort of equipment that only ranked agents could requisition, and then only for special circumstances. Zhonoch earned his suit on the capital, back when the Emperor still held the throne. Before that, when the Praetorate were in control, he was just a gladiator fighting beasts for their entertainment, but when Calus let him out? He hunted a different kind of prey. The Emperor liked that. Liked that a lot. Enough to shower gifts and praises.

Ghaul's rise changed nothing. Those remaining Praetorate rats who survived to see the Golden Emperor exiled couldn't touch him. Not with Soulrazer colours on his back. Only the Midnight Conspirators had that power, and they didn't care.

The suit was forged with two layers of folded military-grade steel, the kind that became a warship's hull. Sandwiched between the sheets of metal was a layer of depleted uranium. Memory foam on the inside molded around him, fitting him perfectly, but it was hard and tough on the exterior. It covered him from head to toe. The armour was smart, too. It was designed not for the Hive war, nor as anti-Vex technology, but as a Cabal killer. It actively jammed Battlenet signals and fed the network false info. It defied both radar and thermal imaging, and the active camouflage function - modeled after the infamous Eliksni stealth generator - hid it from motion sensors and the naked eye.

It was declared illegal after the Midnight Coup, plain and simple, but the Soulrazers had fought tooth and nail to hold onto what suits they already had. Zhonoch was glad they did. He loved his armour more than he did his own brother.

There was nothing ornamental about it. It was ivory and gold, Soulrazer colours, and that was it. Crests and medal looked nice on the shoulders of Valus and Primus, but for Vigilants they only made unnecessary noise.

"Good?" Shu'av questioned. The Val was standing off to the side, heavy arms crossed over his chestplate.

"Good," Zhonoch replied. He stretched to test the armour's flexibility, but it was just as supple as when he first wore it. "Arm me."

The quartermaster slapped wrist-blades onto his arms. Zhonoch accepted a rifle and holstered it by his leg. Finally came a Severus, which he handled with care and attached to the magnetic locks on his back.

Zhonoch looked down at himself and gritted his teeth together. "This is it. Either we prove Da'aurc's infection, or we die."

"We'll be watching," Tlac vowed. "And we'll mobilize the Soulrazers if need be."

"There goes the last plan," Shu'av grumbled. "What about the infected?"

Zhonoch grunted irritably. "Just kill them. No point waiting around anymore. We've got to act."

Val Shu'av saluted. "I'll see it through, sir."

"If I die, Tlac's in charge."

The Specialist blinked with surprise. "Thanks."

Zhonoch grinned. "Trust me, you'll hate it."

He took a deep breath and activated his Arc-powered stealth generator.

**000**

Kiphoris hissed. "I understand," he deliberated, "that you are full of rage, and it is for that reason I will not consider this an act of war."

Arya's blade pressed all the closer to his throat. Her sword was not of Eliksni or Hive make, nor was it a Risen or Rider blade, but he didn't want to test whether it was sharp enough to slice through both his biosuit and his skin. "Where are they?"

"I don't know. Far."

"Did you know about her?!"

"I did," he admitted. He was in a sea of angry faces. "As you did, from what I understand."

"No. No!" Arya snapped. "I knew she was an elf, but... not... not of the Forsworn!"

The only ones not to overreact were his loyal Eliksni and Kida. None had not opened fire, much to Kiphoris's relief, but all had raised his weapons all the same time. Kida aimed at Arya's head. The Frame knew who his allies were.

"Extrasolar entity designated Kiphoris, this unit has a query. Shall I terminate hostile _Homo Pythonicus_ subject designated Arya?"

" _Nama_. No. Cease hostilities. Everyone! _Nama hu_!"

Melkris and Javek reluctantly sheathed their shock daggers. The elves were nowhere near as compliant,

"Arya," Kiphoris mouthed every word with careful consideration, purging his Wolf accent and desperately trying to sound as human as he could. "Put down your blade. Let us speak without threats."

"You brought the threat here," Arya bit out. Saphira's furious growl only added to Kiphoris's sense of danger. He refused to give in. "We trusted you."

"And I am trusting you _now_. I trust that you are reasonable. Cease hostilities" He narrowed his eyes.

"You would stand for the Forsworn?" An elf asked. Kiphoris did not see who.

"Formora is mine-friend. She saved many Eliksni from an Ahamkara. She is an ally of mine-house and a member of mine-crew. _Eia_ , I would stand for her."

"And die?"

"Death does not scare me," he professed. "There are worse fates to endure. If you are to kill me, do it now. I will not cry out." He lifted a hand and pushed Arya's saber away from his throat. She didn't resist. Her sword arm dropped and she stepped back, but her glare was as strong as it had ever been.

"Explain."

He rubbed his neck and eyed the other elves nervously. There were twenty-nine of them present, and while fewer than half still bore naked steel, not one of them appeared in any way willing to argue for his sake. Neither Orik nor Eragon were any help either: the former was as angry as the elves and the latter looked hurt.

Saphira was beyond their fury, however. The dragon kneaded the ground with her claws and fixed him with a dark, murderous look. He knew, in that moment, that what friendship they had between them was gone.

"I have spoken with _Formora pak Zeshus_."

"That doesn't-" Islanzadí started to argue, but he cut her off with an equally harsh look.

"Let me finish." He glanced behind him. Arke and Obleker were by the door, completely motionless. He feared for them. Obleker didn't deserve to die, and the elves didn't deserve to be hunted down by Arke. He needed to ensure they could all walk out of the hall alive without resorting to bloodletting. "I have spoken with her. She told me of her past. Formora is earnest in her desire to see justice delivered. She is not our enemy."

"She betrayed the Riders of old. She turned on those she swore to protect."

"And she has sworn to me that it was forced of her by the human Kell."

"You believe her?"

" _Formora pak Zeshus_ spoke in the ancient language." Kiphoris paused. "As will I, if you yet need convincing. I vouch for her. She is part of mine-crew."

"Then do so."

Given the unflinching glares aimed at him and him alone, Kiphoris came to the conclusion that perhaps even the ancient language was not enough. There was an ancient fury in the elves, one that simple apologies could not mend.

He needed to mend it. "So be it. You must give me the words. I want to say..."

**000**

"I told you," Formora said hollowly. "I told you it would end poorly."

Ikharos didn't answer her. He paced around the forest clearing, waiting for the Kiphoris's signal. Xiān floated at his shoulder, shell opened up to catch whichever Eliksni radio transmissions came first.

"We never should have tried in the first place. It's only going to hurt us. And Kiphoris. He's still there!"

"He'll be fine," Ikharos mumbled.

"How? _How_?! They were looking to kill and you've snatched away their target. They'll turn on him!"

"He's not dead yet."

"There's no way to tell."

"Actually," Xiān spoke up with uncharacteristic shyness, "there is. I'm monitoring his biosignature. He's alive and well."

"Thank goodness." Formora breathed out in relief. "I don't want any of you to suffer for my transgressions. This was always fated to be a foolish endeavour."

"Stop." Ikharos twirled about. "Okay? Just stop. What's done is done. Bemoaning our circumstances won't help anyone. Best we can do is try to salvage this."

"How? Whatever alliance the Eliksni would have had with the elves is over. We won't be able to arm them with magic quick enough. Our enemies will strike long before our Scars are ready."

"We'll find a way," Ikharos said firmly. "We have to."

"We _can't_. Not with my people."

"Fuck them. We'll still find a way whether they're with us or not."

Formora looked up. She was haggard with worry and regret. Her eyes shone. "You do too much."

"I don't do enough," he retorted.

"I mean for me."

"My answer's the same. Fireteam or crew, you're part of it. I'll fight tooth and nail before anyone is allowed to mess with that."

Formora laughed mirthlessly. "What if I'm the one to change it? I won't allow my presence here destroy our chance at victory."

"And what? What else will you do?"

"I'll fight. Alone. Out of sight."

"You'll get yourself killed."

"I'm already half-dead. Ilthorvo is gone. To go on without her is too hard. All that remains is anger. And... I'm tired of being angry."

Ikharos grasped her hand and held it between both of his. "Please. Just stay with us. We need your help."

"There are others-"

"I'm not losing another friend." He shook his head. "I don't care how selfish it is. I _can't_ lose another friend." He took a deep breath. "I used to think anger was all that mattered too. I learned otherwise."

"I'm not like you! I have no hope!"

"Neither do I," Ikharos admitted quietly. "I lost that as well. The universe is too cold for it. It doesn't matter how we feel. Only what we do. Just... give yourself a goal and work towards it. That's what I do."

She pressed her other hand against the side of his face. "We shouldn't have allowed this to happen. Either of us. You're right in saying we need to salvage this, but there's only one way we can. Condemn me."

"No."

"You must."

"I won't. I-"

Xiān perked up. "Sorry, uh... Kiphoris is calling."

Ikharos pulled back and let go of Formora's hand. Her arms fell back to her sides. "Put it through."

"- _rzen? Zeshus?_ " The Captain's voice drifted through the Ghost with a static-filled buzz.

"We're here, Kiph," Ikharos reported. "What is it?"

There was a brief silence on the other side. Ikharos could hear distant voices but couldn't make out what was being said. Eventually, Kiphoris returned to the radio. " _Islanzadí-kel has offered temporary amnesty for both of you. She, and many others, want to hear Formora's testimony._ "

It was too good to be true. "What's the catch?"

" _If they find her guilty, her fate lies in their hands._ "

"... Psekisk. We refuse."

"No," Formora quickly followed up. "We don't. Are we to return to Ellesméra?"

" _Eia. Please, come quickly. I do not think their patience will last._ " With a final angry buzz of farewell, the channel was cut.

Ikharos stared at her. "I'm not letting them."

She didn't meet his eyes. "That's not your choice."

"I don't care."

"You do. You just won't admit it."

"I'm... no. We could leave. Here and now. We could go, call Sundrass. Hell, we could just take my Sparrow and make our way back to Tarrhis on our own."

"The war is too important to think only of ourselves. We cannot pass up this chance. You cannot."

Ikharos didn't utter another word. He didn't trust himself. He just waited for her to make her choice.

Formora started walking in the direction of Ellesméra. All he could do was helplessly follow. He promised himself that everything would be alright, or that if the elves tried to kill her he'd intercede, but it all rang empty. No matter what he did, it wouldn't help anyone.

He hated it. He hated the helplessness.

* * *

They didn't arrive to cheers and laughter. The elves that milled about outside the hall bore expressions of worry and confusion. Seeing Ikharos and Formora return likely didn't help. Especially when neither of them wore a helmet. Most just recognized her for what she was: an elf.

It was when they were on the steps of the elven hall that the shout Ikharos feared rang out.

"Forsworn!"

Formora flinched, but she carried on nonetheless. No one tried to stop them. The doors opened, this time because of the two Eliksni pulling on them. Melkris tried to be brave, but Javek's eyes said it all: it was going to be bad.

Ikharos grabbed Formora's wrist. "Last chance. I'm begging you to take it. Please. Come with me."

It was her turn to remain silent. She offered him a heartfelt smile and gently pulled away. He wasn't strong enough to hold on.

Everyone inside had a place. Kiphoris and Arya stood on either side of Islanzadí. The elven nobles all sat in their own seats along the table. Saphira, Eragon, Lifaen, Narí, Celdin, and Orik were one side of the doorway and Obleker, Arke, and Kida on the other. Melkris and Javek joined the robots.

The huge doors stayed open. The crowd outside could hear everything if they so wished.

Formora stood in the entrance. Ikharos silently took up position beside her and he wordlessly dared the elves to object. No one did.

Islanzadí stood. She wore a stony expression. They all did "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, Dragon Rider of Vroengard, former scion of Rílvenar, and fourth of the Wyrdfell. You stand in the hall of House Tarmunora to be judged for your transgressions against the realms of men, dwarves, and elves. Your fate will be decided by the noble houses of Du Weldenvarden. _Ach néiat eitha orono vae weohnata taune onr lífa_."

"I understand." Formora held her head high, proud to the end. She untied her sword belt and removed her firearms, then handed them all to Ikharos.

His heart was in his throat. Fear for himself paled in comparison to fear for others. Loss hurt more than death. And he was terrified of losing again.

"Your crimes are great. Such dark deeds deserve only swift retribution," Islanzadí declared. She glared daggers at the both of them. "But... Kiphoris, ambassador of the Eliksni, has vouched for you in the ancient language. We would not be so foolish as to ignore him. Thus, we grant you the right to testimony. Plead your case... and then we will pass judgement."

Formora closed her eyes and slowly breathed in and out. In and out. In and out. For an entire minute silence reigned supreme. Then, seemingly picking the moment at random, she said, " _Eka eddyr Formora. Eka ero aí shur'tugal. Eka ero abr du wyrdfell. Eka vergarío margrr mennsligar, älfya, skulblakar, un dvergar. Mar néiat medh iet eiga hugin. Galbatorix, hverr snuaí älfrs hrygr äthr du shur'tugalar, notaí älfrs hugr eom taune iet hugr un verda elbrithil ofan iet huginar. Älfr setja domia ofan iet vaupneya un bennar. Älfr setja domia ofan iet skulblaka._ "

What parts Ikharos didn't understand the power of the ancient language made known to him. There was a thrumming energy in her words that resonated with his Light. Ikharos had to divert his focus for a few seconds to hold it back.

Formora did not stop there. She continued to talk for entire minutes, then an hour, then two hours, and longer. Everything she ever wanted said was done so, all in the ancient language. And Ikharos watched, with growing hope and budding excitement, how the resentment slowly began to fade from every end of the table.

But it was not easy. He couldn't help but listen in, and to hear Formora's profession was haunting. He never even considered that she might have experienced half of what she did, and it buried a seed of hateful wrath within him. Before, Galbatorix was only ever a means to an end, for both Nezarec and himself. A mere puppet. But after learning all the tyrant had done from someone who had been there, someone who had suffered under his yoke, Ikharos suddenly discovered he wanted to make the traitorous Rider suffer for every act of cruelty he'd committed in his hundred-year reign.

Formora herself had earned his respect tenfold. She had suffered beyond what he thought a Lightless could survive and rose back up, her spirit unbroken. No pain, physical or emotional, had bested her. And, from the sounds of it, Galbatorix was very, _very_ creative with his punishments.

Evening had come when at last Formora finished. Her cheeks were marked where tears had fallen and long since dried. She opened her eyes and bravely met Islanzadí's gaze. "I can say no more," she whispered.

Silence resumed for a time. It was deafening. One of the gathered nobles, a woman of incredible grace with a golden circlet upon her brow and green robes with silver embroidery, took to her feet. "Neither should you."

"Lady Violmedr." Formora inclined her head. "I have brought shame to our house. I apologize - for that and everything. I had assumed that my name was struck from the Rílvenar tapestry. It is only right."

"Indeed it was," Violmedr solemnly responded. "But after hearing your account, I think it was done in haste." She looked around. "As all our assumptions were. I cannot speak for my compeers or my queen, but I find no fault in you."

"Nor I," said the lord across from her. Thus began a series of _Nor I_ 's all along the table, until it reached the very end.

"Nor I," Islanzadí echoed in a muted voice. She raise a hand. "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, your testimony has been… informative." She sighed. "I absolve you of your crimes. Is this found agreeable?"

The answering came as a unanimous _Yes_ along the table. Islanzadí turned to Orik.

"It is acceptable," he gruffly agreed.

"And what do you say, noble dragon?" Islanzadí asked of Saphira.

The dragon's burning eyes never left Formora. " _If s_ _he is repentant. I agree._ "

"Then it is settled." The elven queen stood. "Formora Láerdhon, daughter of Káslidn and Linfeyth, you are no longer of the Wyrdfell. Forever more, I proclaim you once more as an elf of Du Weldenvarden. Your status in House Rílvenar may be resumed if Lady Violmedr consents."

"I do," Lady Violmedr nodded.

"Then you are once more Formora Láerdhon of House Rílvenar."

Formora twirled around. Ikharos barely had enough time to drop all he held before she caught him in an embrace that got very close to cracking his ribs. "What's this for?"

"For believing," she muttered. "Thank you."

She pulled away as Islanzadí clapped. Blagden, the white raven, flew to her outstretched arm. The entire assembly bowed as Islanzadí proceeded to the end of the hall and through the door to the hundreds of elves outside, whereupon she made a brief declaration in the ancient language that Ikharos was too distracted to catch. The elves burst into cheers and began to rush about.

Formora grasped his arm and led him over to where Lady Violmedr and Lifaen waited. They both bore wide, honest smiles.

"It is late and our hall is not far," Violmedr said. "Come with us. I will make additions to the tapestry."

Formora almost said yes - Ikharos could tell. But she stopped herself and glanced at him.

Violmedr saw it. Her smile did not diminish. "Your companions may join us. There is room for all."

Kiphoris walked over, outer eyes closed. He chittered and said, "See? Was I not right?"

She laughed and hugged him too. It highlighted the huge size difference between them - the tall elf and the much taller Eliksni.

"Apparently, Formora's earned us accommodation," Ikharos told him. "Diplomacy, eh?"

"You are all welcome," Violmedr announced. "Please, join us." And with that, she glided out of the hall. They followed close behind. Obleker, Kida, Arke, and the rest of the Eliksni followed them out. Ikharos was left wondering how any of the elves' hollowed out trees could house them all. None of them appeared large enough.

The Rílvenar abode was not one tree, but three that merged together. It was, in essence, a towering citadel that reached high into the sky. There were stables and gardens at the ground level, all laid out with the perfection and beauty Ikharos was soon coming to associate with the elves. Lady Violmedr led them inside and clapped her hands. A hearth on the far side of the first floor flared to life.

Their guide turned around and said, "Please, treat this as your home. You are all welcome here. Whatever you need, you need merely ask. For now, I request that Formora accompany me alone. This is a matter for those of Rílvenar."

Ikharos's argument died away the moment Formora granted him a reassurring look. She left with Violmedr and Lifaen.

Kiphoris tapped his shoulder and pointed to the hearth. A set of incredibly comfortable looking armchairs stood before it. Without another word, Ikharos and Kiphoris walked over and collapsed into a pair.

"Holy crap," Ikharos said numbly. Kiphoris mumbled something similar. "How did... How did you manage to make them agree to that?"

Kiphoris dispelled a heavy breath. "Oh, _Ikha Riis_... I have no idea."

"You silver-tongued bastard. Thank you." Ikharos eyed the fire. "That was..."

"Something," the big Eliksni finished.

"Yeah. Something."

Narí leaned in between them, holding a bottle in each hand. "Kiphoris, Shadeslayer, might I offer you-"

"Yes," Ikharos blurted. "And yesyesyes." He gratefully accepted one of the bottles. "Oh, this is... yes."

Kiphoris gingerly took the other and nodded his thanks to the elf. "What is it?"

"Faelnirv," Narí cheerfully explained.

Ikharos undid the stopper on his bottle. He almost took a swig, but stopped himself when Xiān whispered something to him. He swiveled to face his companion. "Hey, Kiph... pay up."

"What?"

"Ether. I want to try my hand at the ether-wine mix."

**000**

Zhonoch moved as silently as he could through the twisting halls and corridors of the Magnus Vae. A radar on his HUD highlighted where his suit, or the Psions monitoring his progress, located Worldbreaker sentries. He made every effort to avoid them.

He was invisible, but he wasn't truly hidden. The Eliksni stealth generator had a unique hum that could easily be missed or disregarded as ambient noise from the carrier around them, but the Legionaries of the Worldbreakers, like all legions, would pick up on the distinctive sound. The hum was often the only sign a colonial cohort had of an impending Marauder attack.

For miles he walked, stalking down endless corridors until finally he arrived at the cargo bay's rear entrance. Four Worldbreakers stood guard by the bulkhead doors. Two were simple Uluru Legionaries, but the other two were Neirim and Neuroc.

The former looked in Zhonoch's direction, even though he'd ensured that he was moving as quietly as possible. With an irritable grunt, he deactivated his stealth generator. "You're sharp, Psion."

Neirim didn't banter back. He just nodded to the Legionaries. They saluted and opened the doors.

"Quick," Neuroc ordered. "Before we're discovered."

Zhonoch didn't put up any resistance. He jogged after the two as they slipped into the cargo bay. They didn't have far to go. Bays AH13 and AH14 were close to the rear entrance. The first they reached, AH13, was almost filled to the brim with huge dark crates, and the chamber was built large enough to fit a three dozen hovertanks.

"There's the CASPs," Neuroc whispered. "We need to set the bombs and... Sir?"

Zhonoch ignored her and walked over to the first one he saw. The CASPs were cuboid constructs half as large as a Goliath tank. There was a shaded window in the side. "I want a look at these blighters. I want to see them squirm."

"Sir, I don't think we should... fine." Neuroc followed him over and pressed a button on the crate's side.

Nothing changed. The window was just as dark. She pressed it again: same result.

"Faulty?" Zhonoch asked.

"No, this isn't..." She peered in the window. "Something's obstructing the view."

"I'll unobstruct it." Zhonoch cracked a fist against the crate, jostling the entire thing. The darkness within didn't go away, but three little lights sliced into view.

Zhonoch and Neuroc stumbled back at the same time.

"It's not a Worm farm," she whispered.

Zhonoch stared at the eyes behind the glass. They slowly closed away. "... Hive." He grabbed one of the bombs. "We need to-"

"Stop."

Zhonoch froze.

"Turn around."

He did so. Primus Da'aurc stood not twenty Uluru paces away, flanked by his bond-brothers. One of them, Re'eir, tossed something onto the ground. It landed with a squelch. Zhonoch looked it over. It was the head of one of Neuroc's Legionaries.

He quickly looked around. Neirim was gone. The little rat.

"Primus," Zhonoch began in a low voice. "Please. These are monsters. We have to-"

"No." Da'aurc shook his head. He had a slug rifle locked and loaded. It looked like a toy in his huge hands. "They're not monsters. How can something so beautiful be a monster?"

Neuroc raised her hands in surrender. "They need to be destroyed. Sir, with all respect, we have to-"

Da'aurc fired. Zhonoch flinched, but it didn't hit him. He glanced over at Neuroc - but she was still intact. Then where...

A whistle split the air. The vacuum within the CASPS sucked in air through the narrow hole left by the microcket. Something within - something big - groaned its way to wakefulness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: The gods of the coin toss have chosen.
> 
> Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	47. Interlude: A Dawning Chance

** A Dawning Chance **

_24th of December, 7999 DC  
Doru Araeba, Vroengard_

Winter was familiar. Winter meant resource scarcity, bad weather, unreliable transmissions, and poor vision. It was a time to lay low and keep quiet.

It took him a while to remember that Vroengard wasn't Old Russia. He didn't need to worry about food or supplies - there was much to be scavenged in the supposed 'Dragon Rider' city. There weren't Devils to hide from. And he wasn't out on an extended patrol mission with Jaxson and Lennox.

He would have traded all of the peace Kepler offered him for a chance to hear them again. Just once. Just long enough to set things straight.

He didn't think he was going to get his Dawning wish.

" _At least we're togethe_ _r_ ," Xiān whispered. They were taking shelter from the rainstorm in an abandoned building. The corner was the only place dry enough to find any measure of comfort.

Ikharos wasn't fool enough to disregard her. " _I'll never not cherish that._ "

" _Happy Dawning, you old grinch._ "

" _What's a grinch?_ "

" _No idea._ "

Ikharos rolled his eyes and smiled. " _Happy Dawning, you little monster._ " He dragged the warm Ghost closer to his core. Her Light thrummed in beat with his heart. " _Love you._ "

Some Dawnings were harder than others. But he was glad to always have someone by his side.

" _We should decorate this place._ "

Even if that someone continuously drove him to his wits' end.

**000**

" _Kvetha_."

Formora blinked at the bright lights patterning along the wall and slowly brought her gaze back to the impossibly strange man. " _Kvetha.._ _._ " She greeted weakly, at a loss for words.

Ikharos didn't threaten, didn't shoo her off, didn't do anything she expected of him. Instead of acting like a normal person, he swept his arms out wide and announced, with a wide smile full of veiled emotion, "Happy Dawning."

She wasn't amused. "What _is_ this?"

"Magic," he explained.

As if she hadn't realized. He'd used what words she'd given him and made the most rudimentary of werelights. The _how_ was impossible - he only had a handful of phrases to his name - but the _why_ was somehow more important.

So Formora asked him. The man she killed merely shrugged in response. As if her taking of his life was a mere thing of the past.

She had committed murder, and her victim just... _forgot_ about it.

He was too strange for her.

"It's Dawning. A time of... well, I don't know. Family. Friends. People in general." He looked around. "Though there's precious few of those here."

Her heart knotted. _Family_.

She swallowed in an attempt to rid herself of the bitter taste in her mouth. It didn't work.

Ikharos pressed something into her hands. "Happy Dawning."

It was a silver coin of startlingly exquisite make, fitted with a blue jewel in the centre.

Formora straightened her spine, nodded her thanks, and marched away. Ikharos didn't call her back. She went straight back to her camp beneath the ruined tower, sat cross-legged on her bedroll, and cursed the man's name.

_He was being nice._

She didn't want him to be nice. She _killed_ him. For no good reason.

"Why?" Formora asked aloud. Not in search of any answer. She just wanted to hear it said. To anchor her problems in reality. To convince her that she wasn't being unreasonable.

It didn't help in the slightest.

**000**

He didn't expect to see Formora until the next day. She usually met him at a set time to trade in knowledge for a few hours, but beyond that she avoided him like the plague.

Which was why he was so surprised to see her gliding out of the dark outside like a wraith, more graceful than all but the most elegant of Awoken, and into his humble hovel. The building he'd chosen for the night hardly offered better cover than the last, but it was warmer and it was where he'd made parts of the walls glow with magic.

Formora marched up to him without hesitation and threw a leather pouch at him. He caught it and frowned. "What's this?"

She cleared her throat. "Seeds."

"For?"

"Strawberries."

"... I can't grow these. Not here."

"I've warded them against the poison. You will find they grow quicker than their normal counterparts, but only if you plant them in the gardens to the west."

Strawberries. She was giving him strawberries. Hardly a fair trade, when he'd handed her a silver coin from the Reef.

" _Fair isn't the aim_ ," Xiān told him. " _It's the thought that counts._ "

Ikharos forced himself to see beyond the trade. The value was insignificant, but what it truly offered was priceless.

He hadn't had strawberries in a very long time. He'd take them over his packed rations any day. "Thank you." He dipped his head.

Formora said nothing. He didn't expect her to. She stood her, studying him. Satisfied, she turned and left.

Ikharos didn't try to follow her or make her stay. There were boundaries and limitations in their strained newfound relationship, and he wasn't willing to cross them. He was content to leave it as it was. And let it take whichever route felt natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A short interlude-chapter-thingymajig. Big thanks to Nomad Blue!
> 
> Merry Christmas all! Even if you don't celebrate it, I wish you well all the same!


	48. Aiat

_Something is happening._

He blearily opened his eyes and strained them against the darkness of his stifling helm. He felt, more than anything else, the Thrall and Acolytes scurrying around his body in the confines of the sleeping-cell. It was a cramped, stifling crypt of alien making, but it had its uses. Sweet-voiced Ir Eirim had convinced him of that.

Kirrnaka-Hul raised his heavy head. He could smell the salty fear of war-wedded Cabal nearby, though he knew not from whence the scent came. A deep growl built up in his chest. His hand clenched around the familiar age-worn grip of his axe and he bucked against the walls of his metal cocoon.

 _Sounds_. His hearing returned to him. Noise filtered in from outside. That in itself was more telling than the cries of his soon-to-be prey. The vacuum had been filled with air that tasted like cold steel and wretched oil. There was a medium around him for their gasps and shouts to ride over. The crypt had been pierced.

_Our façade shatters. We are discovered._

He let loose a deep-set groan that reached beyond the realms of matter and physics. " _Wake. Wake, my brothers. Wake, my sisters. Wake, my sons and daughters. Wake, children of my clutch-mates. Wake. Our time is upon us. Wake._ "

What cryogel-mists remained in his cramped crypt shattered and broke upon his dead tongue. Metal buckled around him. His Thrall-spawn chittered and snarled. The older Acolytes bit out threats to keep them silent. With a mighty shove, Kirrnaka-Hul shoved his beloved axe forward and rent through the walls of their cage in one savage motion. He ripped free. Sharp steel scratched against his calcified shell, but he was beyond caring. Kirrnaka-Hul filled his vacuum-dried lungs with fresh air and exulted in the mouth-watering flavour of new hunting grounds.

Five Cabal stared at him, at the Thrall crawling over his body, at the Acolytes that squeezed past him, and at the other pods shaking with activity. Two of them shivered in terror. The remaining three smiled warmly.

Kirrnaka-Hul scoffed. More of his sister's cattle.

"Cull them," he ordered of his underlings. He shook the Thrall from his back. They fell and scampered across the floor - straight to the misguided savages.

The two yet free Cabal - one Uluru, one Psion - broke out into a run. Their fear was palpable. It was delicious. His Worm roared for blood. Kirrnaka-Hul slammed a fist against his chest in hopes of jostling the parasite. "Silence," he growled, but he moved to engage the cravens all the same.

All around him, pods full of brethren shook. Their occupants slammed fists, hammers, boomers, and blades against their cells. They cracked through the metal shells like larvae hatching from eggs. He chuckled with approval for the image - it was a beginning renewed. A beginning he could live for.

Kirrnaka-Hul tossed the thought aside and reverted his attention to the task laid out ahead of him. He was on the hunt. Nothing else mattered to him. Not in that moment. He saw his prey running from him, saw their exposed backs and breathed in their horror. He thundered after them, hefting his axe onto his shoulder.

They headed towards a door. Kirrnaka-Hul gritted his filed fangs and drew his weapon back. A light flared from the doorway, momentarily catching him unawares, and something with force slammed against his head. Diluted pain marked where the slug had cracked against his helmet.

He tossed all the same. The axe scraped along the metal floor with a metallic schriek and narrowly missed the larger of the fleeing Cabal. It slammed against the doorway. The sharp light was gone. He hoped his axe had reached the shooter

A scream split the air. Ir Eirim sped past him, shrieking obscenities at the fleeing pests. Her tattered robes of bruised purple and sickly yellow trailed after her.

She was going to kill them.

But they were his.

With a bellowing laugh, Kirrnaka-Hul stampeded ahead. His sister was almost upon the smaller Psion, but he didn't care for that one. And he didn't need his axe to rend an Uluru's head from their shoulders. All he needed was to-

His Uluru twisted around and tossed something at him. It was cylindrical, just like the scrolls Tir Argok hoarded, or the ammunition shells Cheirrlok experimented with. Neither interested him.

Kirrnaka-Hul raised a hand to swat it aside. The moment his blunted claws touched the cylinder, it came apart in a bright flash of shrapnel and searing heat. His world became fire.

**000**

Darkness surrounded him.

It took him a few seconds too long to realize that it was just his HUD being offline. Zhonoch groaned. He slapped a hand against the side of his helm and threw it off. His skull pounded with a dull ache. A whine pierced his eardrums and gradually faded away.

He lifted himself up and quickly looked around. He was in the corridor outside the cargo hold. _But why…?_

"Fool."

Neirim stood over him. His shattered rifle was left discarded on the floor. The Psion glared at him. There was blood on his armour. A thin metal shard had lanced his shoulder. "You could have killed us all."

Ah. The bomb.

"And you could have warned us, Slip." Zhonoch lifted himself up with some difficulty. He felt dazed but otherwise unharmed. His armour had shielded him from the worst of the explosion, but it had still thrown him into a wall. "Where's Neuroc?"

Neirim looked around, eye flashing urgently. The distorted entrance to the cargo hold was almost entirely blocked by the monstrously huge axe. Flames flickered around it.

Movement flashed. Zhonoch fumbled for his slug rifle - needlessly. Neuroc slowly climbed around the massive weapon. Her armour was covered in ash and dust. She stumbled into the corridor and fell to her knees. Neirim rushed over.

"By Acrius, you lucky-" Zhonoch began.

Neuroc coughed fitfully. "Wizard took the blast for me," she rasped hollowly.

A mere mention of the Hive brought him sudden clarity. Zhonoch clamped his teeth down on his tongue. "Hive. Hive!" He pressed a finger against his radio. "Tlac?! Shu'av?! Orche?!"

Crackling static was all he heard.

"Comms are down," Neirim hollowly reported. "Infected must have known. They're paving the way for the Hive."

"We need to move! Need to warn them!"

"Wait," Neuroc gasped. She put a hand to her chest and gulped in the smoke-free air. "Ah... There."

"Can you walk?" Neirim asked her, concerned.

"I... can. I can. Go."

Zhonoch didn't wait around. He ran as fast as he could. A fleeting moment passed before the Psions darted after him.

**000**

Kirrnaka-Hul waved the smoke from his vision and tugged his axe free. His Worm twinged with disappointment: their prey had escaped. He pummeled his stomach twice more. His exoskeleton chipped and threatened to crack under his blows. "Be _quiet_!"

He peered through the wide open exit. The corridor was too narrow for him to comfortably walk down. He'd have to cut his way through. The Cabal were out of reach.

He gritted his blunted teeth, but he was satisfied with the knowledge that they would die regardless. Tir Argok's puppets would end them. If not, then his children would claim them.

The shriek of claws on metal had become incessantly loud. His brethren and spawn furiously beat against the walls of their cells until ruptures appeared. He heard more of the same beyond the walls of their holding chamber - followed by a deep, earthshaking groan he'd recognize anywhere.

"Maalcoth!" Kirrnaka-Hul bellowed. The groan tapered off. "Maalcoth, o dear brother, wake! It is time for feeding! It is time for bravery and pain! Tir Argok, o dear sister, wake! It is time for ambition and schemes!"

The very ship around them shuddered with the renewed struggles of his kin. With a mighty crack, one of the crates shattered open and spilled out a horde of Thrall. Above the newborn wretches floated Tir Argok, broad of crest and bright of eye. Shadows spilled from her limbs, and red afterglows trailed from her eyes.

An Echo was to be born.

Tir Argok, Broodqueen and scheme-sister, locked her eyes onto his terrible visage. "Where is Ir Eirim, singer of tricks and keeper of secrets?"

"Gone," Kirrnaka-Hul huffed in his guttural voice, hoarse with disuse. "Gone and gone."

"Then I shall miss her melodious tone. Her temptations gift unto my plots a keen edge deserving of its own logic."

"A logic of illusions?" He asked, aghast. Around his feet surged a sea of hunting Thrall and Acolyte. Seventeen Knights pushed through, the fangs of a greater beast. Those seventeen took up position around Kirrnaka-Hul and bared their blades, parting the ocean of lesser spawn.

Tir Argok laughed and laughed. "A logic of delivering one's foes unto destruction! Her logic is not to be denied, for it is her purpose that steadies the rivers of tribute!"

"Tribute," Kirrnaka-Hul repeated. His maw was dry and his stomach was empty - empty save for a parasite that continued to bite him out of unending hunger. "Now is not the time for deep thought or slow digestion. Now is the time for sinking blades and painting of blood!"

"The Uluru are brided to war. These feedings will be hard won."

"We _are_ war."

Tir Argok laughed. "And we are cunning. Through stolen cunning and predicted war we will feast."

"So feast we shall!" Kirrnaka-Hul raised his axe. His Knights, his beloved Blades of Kâliir, cheered with whetted craving and undying loyalty. They surged with him and marched off to war founded by cunning.

**000**

Tlac didn't know where it started, but the firefight that flickered on the edges of the periphery steadily grew to accompany half the camp. The infected made no effort to disguise their loyalties - they fired on Soulrazers and Worldbreakers both without a care. It made it easier for him to rally together those who appeared uninfected and mount a counterattack.

No word came from the _Magnus Vae_. Not from Zhonoch, not from Neuroc, not from Neirim. There was only static. The infected must have activated radio jammers. They knew what was happening. And, most likely, Zhonoch was dead.

"You're in charge," Shu'av told him moments before running out of the bunker and joining the fight.

Tlac steeled his resolve against the mounting horror and panic and heartbreak. Orche and Cadon were an immeasurable help in that regard. At least he still had them.

Holograms floated and flashed all around them. Their voices reached hundreds of confused Uluru and their thoughts spoke to regiments of screaming Psions.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. They could hear something laughing on the edges of their minds.

Tlac knew that laughter.

**000**

The Faelnirv-ether concoction went swimmingly well. The clean, cold sweetness of the ethereal Eliksni lifeblood blended well with the taste of mulled berries offered by the elven ambrosia, culminating in a mixture that Ikharos could only label as " _wine worthy of gods_."

Kiphoris initially challenged the bold statement, but a mere sip of the divine beverage convinced him otherwise.

"Is this what happens when the Traveler's children manage to get along?" Ikharos mused. "We find new ways to get intoxicated?"

"Wine is... everywhere," Kiphoris replied. "It is not just we who share in that."

"Vex don't."

"Vex are not alive. They do not love, they do not fear, they do not dream."

"Hive love. Hive fear. Hive dream."

"Hive are... something other."

"And Cabal wine is awful."

"Very bad. But it is still wine."

"Suppose so. I guess our peoples just have good taste." Ikharos raised his glass. It was a smooth, crystallic thing that probably took an elven artisan years to form. Or maybe mere hours if magic was involved. "To this. Or whatever it is."

"To this." Kiphoris raised his own. It looked tiny in his grip.

Intoxication was the wrong word. Ikharos didn't feel woozy or light-headed - it would take a lot more than few bottles of cider to do that. But his hyperactive metabolism couldn't overcome the strange magic in the drink. It brought out something in him. A creativity and liveliness that didn't feel natural. Like a miniature Dagshelgr.

He snorted. _Dagshelgr in a bottle._

Kiphoris lazily looked over. His plumage of blue setae were painted black in the flickering light firelight. Not a Wolf. Not in that moment. Something else.

"What is it?" Kiphoris inquired.

Ikharos shrugged. "I feel... poetic, if that makes any sense. Like I want to create something."

"... As do I," the Captain professed. "I itch for the chance to wind threads around mine-fingers and weave them together. I wish to make a banner. Its appearance is hazy to me, but I know that once I make it, it will be clear."

"You are a ' _gentle weaver_.'"

"I am," Kiphoris said defensively, eyes bright. They dimmed as he winced. "I was..."

"But now you're a Scar. What do Scars do?"

"Rear young."

"Have any young to rear?"

"I did. I passed the duty onto Raksil, son of Tarrhis."

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "What, don't like children?"

Kiphoris closed his outer eyes. "I do not mind them. But I had a mission to uphold. I could not care for a hatchling - even one of Kell-blood."

"It was your little Kell?"

" _Eia_. _Mezha-kel_. Last surviving heir of _Valdas-kel_. The hatchling has great spirit, or so I am told."

"And he'll become Kell?"

"Tarrhis will remain Baron-Regent until _Mezha-kel_ has proven his worth and earned his command of the _Kelekhselen_."

"Long way to go."

" _Eia_." Kiphoris hummed. "What of you, Ikha Riis? Where does your house stand?"

"I have no house."

"City-House."

"Yeah, no."

"Not City-House?"

"Er... No. It's still my cause, but I'm... no. I'm not with the city."

"Why have you left your house?"

"Didn't just leave."

"... Ah."

"We don't have a House of Exiles like your people. Our outcasts aren't near so organized."

"Why would they see fit to be rid of you? You are a warrior of worth."

"Symbolism. Killing Riven came at too high a cost. Especially for an off-the-grid mission. _My_ off-the-grid mission."

"And where did you go?"

"Well, not the Moon. I didn't think the House of Exiles would take me under their wing."

The Captain grunted. "Unlikelier things have happened."

"They have. But I wasn't going to test my luck. Besides, I already had digs in the Reef."

"Hard-earned?"

"'Course. I killed a bloody dragon for them. And a whole host of Scorn anarchists. _And_ a bunch of Taken."

"What are they like?"

"The Taken?"

"No. The Scorn."

"Well... Eliksni, but mutated. Badly. As in bloated-flesh-rising-between-plates mutated. What equipment they have is crude. But so are their minds. Whatever scraps of life remain in those corpses has degenerated into primal madness."

"Those are Eliksni no longer."

"No one's going to argue with you there."

"... So the Reef took you in?"

Ikharos nodded. "Petra-"

"Venj? Daughter of Amethyst?"

"That's her. Petra had me all set up - quarters at four-Vesta, access to Reef archives, and even a damned citizenship. She even let me keep the key to the Dreaming City."

Kiphoris blinked. "Truly?"

"I mean, the talisman isn't that valuable when the gates are left wide open, but that's besides the point."

"The Dreaming City is open?"

"And overrun with Taken, yep."

Kiphoris shuttered his inner eyes. "Nothing lasts."

**000**

They cut through the hull of the ship without issue. Blades rose and fell in tandem, accentuated by deep growls and metallic screams. Through bulkhead after bulkhead they cut, ignoring the sounds of skirmishes elsewhere in the Cabal ship. There was more prey outside and they only had to clear a way to reach them.

At last, a sword pierced the hide of the Cabal beast-of-burden. The soft light of night filtered through. The Blades of Kâliir struck again and again with renewed vigour. Kirrnaka-Hul added his own mighty blow, and his axe cracked through metal with a satisfying crunch.

His spawn rippled out of the ship as a wave of claw and tooth. The battle outside, between as-of-yet sane Cabal and their addled counterparts, lulled into a brief spell of quiet before the explosive cracks of gunfire began anew.

Kirrnaka-Hul pushed through the hull and out into the wider world. He stood up and breathed in the air of a new world. There were so many more scents. Too many to understand. But he didn't care for that. He would leave Tir Argok to dissect what illicit learnings she gleaned from their surroundings. All he sought was the opportunity to test his axe.

An explosion - bright and fierce - ripped away a dozen newly-awoken spawn. Kirrnaka-Hul traced the shot back to one of the floating Cabal machines. Its barrel glowed with heat.

He did not wait for Maalcoth to follow him through. Kirrnaka-Hul surged forwards. The machine sent forth a barrage of bullets and missiles. He shrugged them off and reached out, snagging his claws on a thruster.

The hovertank tried to dip away, but his grip was strong. Kirrnaka-Hul huffed at the flames that licked his hand and tossed up the machine with all his might. The machine, helpless to do anything but continue firing at him, flipped over onto its top. Its heavy turret was instantly crushed under its own weight, and Kirrnaka-Hul imagined he could hear the panicked cries of the crew inside.

He lifted his axe and planted it deep into the belly of the Cabal beast. A gout of stinking flames flared up around the blade. Kirrnaka-Hul pressed a foot down on the tank and ripped it out. Ash, molten metal, and burning oil splattered across his torso.

His Worm drank it in. It devoured the violence he offered and happily coiled about. Kirrnaka-Hul growled. He hated it. _Hated_ it. Wanted nothing more than to cut out his own stomach just to deny it a meal.

Its spines prodded the lining of his stomach. It wanted more. He snarled, and begrudgingly moved on to further acts of mayhem, gritting his fangs all the while.

 _I will be masterless_ , he promised himself. _And nothing will command me. No sire, no spawner, no Ascendent, no Worm. I will be a blade free of scabbard. None will sully my infinitesimal edge._

He bellowed and swiped with all his mustered rage, tearing apart war machines, Cabal, and mind-broken cattle in his personal quest to lessen the bite on his soul. An army arrayed itself before him, bristling with guns. He summoned his fury and shattered it. Oil sizzled on his chitin, rockets tore chunks out of his shell, but not a drop of blood was spilled. He was battle-rage incarnate.

A heavy planetcracker slammed against him, enveloping him in destructive energies. Spawn and Cabal died by the dozens, but not he. He stumbled, and yet he kept his footing. The flames parted before his axe, terrified as only unthinking superheated molecules could be.

Kirrnaka-Hul marched out of the newly-dug crater and bellowed into the night. It was a wordless cry of dark joy and expectant ambitions. His sons and daughters, the Blades of Kâliir, took up the call as they committed to their butchery. They wetted the ground with blood and oil, salted it with fire and logic. It was readied.

Tir Argok raised herself up for all their spawn to see and congratulated them with a scream full of death. Those hapless foes in range fell to the ground, bleeding from shattered ears. Kirrnaka-Hul's dear children ended them with flashing swords.

They offered up the deaths as two-part tithes. One half they gave to him, as was right and proper. The other half flowed to Tir Argok, who did not feed herself or her Worm with it, but chewed the deaths into a new song. It was glorious, the song, for it bonded cunning with expansive creativity - the latter a gift from dear, loyal Cheirrlok.

Tir Argok, shrill and purposeful, herded into place minds and materials. She would grow a garden. An orchard. And they would taste of the fruits it bore - greed, secrets, and violence.

Spirits broken and formations shattered, the Cabal scattered and fled to their flight-ready ships.

Kirrnaka-Hul roared. "I offer you battle and you cower and flee?! You thrust aside my most treasured gift?! Slay them, my children! Slay these inconsiderate beasts! Slay them all!"

His spawn, and the spawn of his siblings, all cheered.

Some Cabal remained to cover the escape of their comrades. In them was a bravery Kirrnaka-Hul could not ignore. They readied themselves to fight, and die, if need be. Their logic was flawed, but their dedication was to be commended. So he stepped forth to praise them in the only way he knew how - through war.

Artillery hit him and his spawn, but he and his Blades held strong. Tir Argok's cattle fired back, ever subservient in their dust-induced delirium.

Kirrnaka-Hul was not satisfied. As he marched, he found himself thoroughly disappointed. Cabal fought as a machine, not as warriors. They considered themselves as nothing more than cogs and gears. Not as creatures capable of greatness. It was a tragedy. He would have to liberate them from the despicable illusion.

Figures stepped out of the shieldwall. Psions. Three of them. Small as they were, Kirrnaka-Hul knew them to be keen-minded sorcerers as worthy as any newly-metamorphosed wizards. And the ones before him were brave to offer him a fight. He was impressed with their audacity. It earned them clean deaths.

The Psions lifted no weapons. They brought no munitions to bear. No, they garbed themselves in power and rose into the air.

Kirrnaka-Hul paused. He sensed something was amiss. He held to his axe and readied himself.

The three Psions flew against each other and... became one. A single Psion, as tall as any Uluru Colossus. They rivaled his Knight-spawn in stature and his Wizard-kin in mind. The newforged Psion raised a hand. A whip of psychokinetic energy lashed out. Kirrnaka-Hul caught it on his chitinous bracer and closed in for a kill.

He had humoured them long enough.

The mind-woven whip wrapped around his wrist crackled with sudden power. Intention so bright and so bold it shocked him to its core. The Psion's will was just there, beneath the surface, and Kirrnaka-Hul saw it for what it was.

It loved its duty. It loved its place in the world. It loved those it surrounded itself with. It loved its own power. It loved each of the three parts that it consisted of. One of those parts held another love, one of admiration and endearment. A love so recently broken, giving way to a dark rage.

It did not love war. It saw battle only as a process by which results could be made. As little more than a puzzle that required focus and dedication, but no more than that. It spent no adoration on the deaths of its foes. It found no satisfaction in the collapse of an opposing army's will to fight.

Kirrnaka-Hul felt a begrudging respect for his opponent. He would kill it gently, with a kind smile and little suffering.

"Hold, brother!" Tir Argok called. He bristled and ignored her, drawing closer to the Psion. "Hold, I say! Hold!"

He reluctantly held in place. Seeing the line of Knights draw short, the Cabal gradually beat a fighting retreat, fending off starving Thrall and brave Acolytes with some measure of skill. The whip relaxed and fell away altogether. The Psion pulled back with its army, whose cohesion was shaken but still in place.

"Why do we wait?" Kirrnaka-Hul demanded. For the umpteenth time, he cracked a fist against his abdomen to still the prickly parasite within. "Why? It is our time to hunt!"

"And hunt we shall, but not without care. Do you feel that?"

He did. The air held a biting edge to it, but it was not of their making. Nor of any brood he knew of. The edge was sharp enough to cut his streams of tribute, held back only by cautious fear. It scratched noisily against his own bladed soul.

"This world has been claimed?"

"It may be," Tir Argok sang.

"We shall take that claim for ourselves."

"Temper yourself."

"My axe hungers for blood. I shall sate it upon the ichor of cretinous Cabal."

"No. We do not fight with war alone. A cunning blade is as effective as any warhammer. Unto us our enemies shall be delivered. Our blades will be whetted with cunning and war in equal measure. We needs must starve ourselves in preparation for a banquet. Now, brother, purge what remains of the war-pretender's stink. I will sing us a haven where lies and swords may grow unabated."

**000**

When the fire died out, Ikharos snapped his fingers and revitalized it with a spark of Solar. Only he, Kiphoris, and Arke were up. Everyone else had retired for the night. Lady Violmedr, of the Mídhran branch of House Rílvenar, had been so kind as to grant them access to the guest rooms for the duration of their stay. Ikharos hadn't looked at the chambers that had been assigned to him - he was enjoying himself too much.

There was a simple pleasure in watching the fire burn while nursing what Faelnirv remained. Kiphoris's quiet, thoughtful presence did not hamper the experience - rather, it enhanced it. Ikharos was glad for the company. Even Arke's little whispers could not dampen his high spirits.

They talked at irregular intervals. Each and every topic they touched upon was colourful and varied, and Kiphoris had much to say on all of them. They talked of how the Skiff was, by far, the optimal war machine in the technology-dry environment of Kepler. They discussed the advantages in operating with small, mobile units as opposed to the sprawling armies fielded by the Cabal. Most of all, they reflected on what they missed most about from the Reef. It was something they continued to fall back upon. Something they both found a comforting familiarity with.

"Faelnirv is good," Ikharos muttered. He swirled his goblet. There wasn't much elven liquor left. "But I think the Awoken wine has it beat."

"I agree, but that isn't to say that this does not have its own exquisite qualities. Mine-blood is afire."

"Mine too." Ikharos frowned. "My fingers tingle, but not... not as if I were drunk. This stuff isn't strong enough for that."

"I fear I am close. How have you...?"

"Hyperactive metabolism. Nothing a few whiskeys can't handle. Which is why I don't drink whiskey."

"Whiskey does not agree with me."

"Probably not."

Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Well, you're a big guy. If you have one too many drinks, you're going to be a hazard."

"I do not lose my footing easily."

"Neither do I, but drunkenness doesn't care about that."

"... Perhaps you are correct." Kiphoris sipped his drink. His plumage was flawless ultramarine in the bright Solar light, not a speck of any other shade upon them. The picture-perfect Wolf noble. His dried-blood cloak dotted with golden circles shattered the illusion.

"How does a stray Wolf make it to Captain of the Scars?" Ikharos blurted.

Kiphoris briefly looked over. "Through actions. I proved myself, as all nobles do."

"Doesn't make your situation any less unique. There's got to be more to that story."

"I had skills the Scars didn't. They appreciated my dedication and rewarded it."

"Dedication to what?"

"To repaying the debt to mine-saviours. To helping mine-people."

"You're a bleeding heart do-gooder."

"I try."

They fell back into silence. The flames of the hearth were mesmerizing. Each crack and pop pulled Ikharos's control. His tense body relaxed, and the batterings of the journey dropped away. It was like being bathed in Light.

"I miss showers most of all," he thought aloud. "There's no showers here. Baths, sure, but only if we're lucky. Only other way to wash is to find the closest river."

"It would not take much effort to build pressure-chambers. I have no doubt that Tarrhis has already ordered the construction of portable units."

"'s not the same. It's a petty issue, sure, but it's the creature comforts that make fighting a war somewhat bearable."

"If mine-Scars claim a permanent camp, I'll see to it that showers are built."

"Thanks? I... wasn't complaining, just reminiscing. That's... highly generous."

"Your point is valid. These small things would please others too. Our situation is dire. Mine-people need something to keep them fighting on."

"I could create all you wish for," Arke offered. She was sitting behind the armchairs. Her head lay down on the floor between. "As long as you wish for it."

"No thanks," Ikharos automatically replied. He didn't give it a second thought. "I can survive without."

Her head rose up, blocking his view of Kiphoris. "Are you sure? A fulfilled desire would please us both."

Ikharos reached out and gently pushed her out of the way. Her feathers were soft to the touch. An intense heat radiated out from beneath them. "It would please me to drink in peace."

"Is that a wish?"

"A complaint."

"You could-"

"Yeah, yeah, I could wish something, I get it. Nice try, but you'll get nothing from me."

"Not today." Arke shivered her jaws. Her golden eyes gleamed. "But there will be other instances."

"Then be a patient dream-eater and get your head out of the way."

Arke laughed and laid back down, wings folded tightly against her sides. Her flanks heaved once as she expelled a small cloud of smoke from between her interlocking fangs. The room filled with the fragrant smell of cinnamon.

"This is so weird," Ikharos muttered. He finished off the last dregs of Faelnirv-ether mix and leaned his head back. "I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight."

Kiphoris clicked his mandibles together. "Neither shall I."

"Too wired."

" _Eia_."

"This was a bad idea."

"It was your idea."

"I know. One in a million, that."

* * *

He did, in the end, close his eyes and allow idle dreams to steal him away. They were brief, boring, and by the time someone roused him to wakefulness in the morning, he had forgotten all about them.

When the blurred myriad of shapes and colours finally made sense to his groggy mind, Ikharos discovered that his waker was still waiting for response.

"Morning," he yawned.

Formora raised an eyebrow. She stood over him, arms crossed, and the corners of her mouth upturned ever so slightly as if to threaten him with the faintest of smiles. "Do you not realize there is a room readied for you?"

Ikharos blinked. "Room? Oh yeah. Yeah." He frowned. "Must have forgotten."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Maybe I just decided not to move." He nodded to himself. "Yeah, probably that. Chair's too comfortable. What time is it?"

"The sun has only just risen."

"Too early. You're heartless." He peered past her. "Kiph's up?"

"I don't think he slept at all."

"We drank. He probably doesn't have the same affinity for it as I."

"So I gather."

He tried moving his limbs, but they were leaden with exhaustion. "What..." He paused, allowing his mind to catch up. "What happens now?"

Formora shrugged nonchalantly. "We follow the plan. We must convince my people to train the Eliksni."

"Good to hear, but I meant with you."

Formora took Kiphoris's empty seat. "I am once more a member of both elven society and aristocracy. I am of House Rílvenar and the last of Láerdhon. As such, the holdings of Cirrane and the archives of Manin-Kvaedhí now fall to me."

Ikharos sat up. "You have a fief?"

"Not in the same context that a dwarven or human noble would, but yes."

"What does that make you? A Baroness? A Viscountess?"

"I am Lady Láerdhon of Cirrane. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're a... forget it."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Were you trying to be funny?"

"Trying, yes, but I'm too tired. You know, when I said you could talk to me about whatever, this isn't what I had in mind."

Formora grinned. It was honest and mischievous all at once. "I thought you didn't need sleep."

"I don't need _much_ sleep," he corrected with as much grouchiness as he could muster. "But when I do, I appreciate being left in peace."

"Apologies."

"Nope, won't work. I'm going to hold it against you all day long."

Formora appraised him with sudden intensity, but her eyes were full of mirth. "I... cherish this," she said after some time. "We speak with unafraid honesty to one another. It is refreshing and endearing. I do not wish to see it end soon."

Ikharos smiled back. "So do I. It's nice to have people to talk with. Makes my stay here a little less lonely." He paused and returned Formora's gaze with just as much vigour. "How are you feeling?"

"Shocked. Happy. Suspicious. Hurt. Angry. I cannot choose any one emotion above the others."

"A monstrous amalgamation of sentiment."

"Just so."

Ikharos nodded and let the topic drop. He wasn't sure where to go next. Xiān was no help. She was content to let it play out, much to his dismay, and left him rudderless.

Grasping at straws, he looked over at Formora and remarked, "No armour?"

Her combat suit had been replaced with a fine green tunic, black leggings, and boots of a material that didn't quite look like leather. A short tan cloak hung from her shoulder, fastened with a brooch depicting a sparrow. Her dark hair was, as usual, swept back to bare her pointed ears and reached just far enough to drape over her shoulders. A silver circlet rested above her brow. Her green eyes stolidly met his own.

"As well-crafted as my armour is," she began, "I cannot bear to consistently wear it every day. Especially here. There are many things expected of me. We elves are not warriors by nature. Weapons may be a source of pride, but the wearing of armour when it is not needed is both an insult to our hosts and to our beliefs." She snuck a pointed look at him. "And this is not restricted to us."

"Me?" Ikharos pursed his lips. "I like wearing armour. It makes me feel safe."

"Are we not safe regardless?"

"There's no place the Dark can't reach."

"The Dark isn't here. Not in Ellesméra. You donned a different attire at Tarnag. Can you not do the same here?"

Ikharos hesitated. "That's different?"

"Indeed. Ellesméra is better hidden than Tarnag. And the forest provides sanctuary that the valleys of the Beors never could. I implore you to consider what I've said."

Ikharos almost argued. Rational thought won out in the end. "Fair enough."

"Thank you."

"Any other warnings?"

"Be careful."

"Of anything specifically, or in general?"

"Both."

He frowned. "... Elaborate please?"

"Unless violence or poison takes us, we elves live forever, and without a war to continuously draw our full attention - as it is for your Risen - we have created for ourselves a political pitfall as a bloodless substitute. Every smile has a hidden motive. Every posture has an agenda. Every word has a double meaning. You are a new element to this game. You will be subjected to dozens of maneuvers to test your strength."

"Attacks?" His hand drifted towards his knife, just to make sure it was still on him.

"Not of either physical or mental nature, no. But against your standing on the grand political stage, yes. Some may offer themselves as allies, others as foes, but all want something. My people are not endlessly generous. They preach peace, yet lust after conflict all the same."

"You don't approve."

"No." Formora grimaced. "There is a war to be fought, and yet my people continue to wage their mock battles without a care for any other peoples. You and I know that there is a world beyond the borders of the forest. We know that it rises to crush us all underfoot."

"So we have to prepare the elves?"

"Yes. But it is not so simply done. I have some experience with these... games, but I profess that I am not that much more diplomatically inclined than you are."

Ikharos grunted. "We're creatures of pride, you and I. Politics is a distasteful necessity. But there's only so many hurdles to jump. The battlelines have already been drawn. All the elves need to do is pitch in."

"Agreed."

* * *

It turned out that Formora had woken him up earlier than he thought, as the wait for their hosts stretched on and on. Ikharos didn't begrudge her, though. She needed someone to confide in, and he had offered himself up as that someone.

But that didn't mean he didn't yearn after lost sleep. The urge to close his eyes and doze away was strong.

It was Lifaen who awoke next. The elven sentinel climbed down the stairs and offered them an awkward greeting. He couldn't seem to believe that Formora was there, no matter how many times she politely engaged him in menial conversation. It was almost worrying that he was more forthcoming with Ikharos himself.

Narí followed not long after, but he had no such limitations as his noble-born friend. He wore an easy smile brimming with relief as he nodded to them all. Ikharos respectfully looked away as Narí and Lifaen tenderly embraced one another.

Celdin followed mere minutes later, Kiphoris right behind him. The other Eliksni and their small Servitor filed in after the Captain. The elves began to move around the room, gathering cutlery and dishes which they then set the central table with. Lifaen briefly disappeared out the front door and returned with fresh bread, a small pot of butter, and an assortment of fruits.

Kida spontaneously appeared at some point and dutifully waited at Ikharos's shoulder, rifle clasped in metal fingers. Ikharos figured the Frame had opted to play at being a bodyguard for the day. He didn't oppose it. He hoped the lifeless soldier would unnerve the elves of the outside city and halt them before they so much as attempted to prod at his power base.

Violmedr arrived last of all. She offered warm smiles for all and bade them to sit and enjoy the meal. It was basic and yet all the more appetizing because of it. The simple tastes and textures were heightened by whatever magic the elves used to grow the food. Ikharos settled for little - only a few buttered slices of still-warm bread and a handful of wildberries.

"Where's Arke?" He asked a few minutes in.

Kiphoris pointed with a free hand towards the doors. "Outside."

"Ah."

"If it is not presumptuous of me," Lady Violmedr began, "may I inquire as to what Arke is? She is beautiful - a worthy reflection of the dragons themselves. And yet, she is not of Saphira's kin. Is she a dragon from another land?"

All eyes instinctively went to Ikharos. He drowned his irritation in a flush of pride. They looked to him for answers. "Arke is an Ahamkara. An alternative term for them is Wish-Dragon. They're from... well, I don't know. Somewhere else."

"Wish-Dragon?" Violmedr asked, confused.

"They feed not from ingestion of material to be chemically converted into energy, as we do, but from the gradient between reality-as-is and reality-as-could-be. In essence, they fulfill wishes to eat. But the temptatious and self-serving nature of the Anthem Anatheme - the method by which the Ahamkara warp reality - can lead them to… become rather gluttonous. To the detriment of those who make the wishes."

"How so?"

"Some desires end innocently, but more often than not a poorly worded wish can backfire on whomever constructs it. Ahamkara do love to crush dreams."

"Then..." Violmedr's warm expression began to fall apart. "Arke is..."

"She's barred from granting wishes of sapient beings unless either Kiphoris or I give her explicit permission," Ikharos explained. He hoped it would assuage the fears prompted by Arke's presence, but he wasn't confident. "As it is, she can only feed from wild animals. It's the only working compromise we have right now."

"Compromise? So you have struck a pact with her?"

Ikharos nodded. "To some degree. She won't attack anyone, I promise. She's sworn as much in the ancient language."

Violmedr looked momentarily worried. "I had not presumed she would." She shook her head. "What strange days these are. Much has transpired beyond Du Weldenvarden without our knowledge. I fear we have allowed ourselves to grow blind." She glanced around the table. "Ah, but do not let my worries bother you. As your hosts, we shall do our utmost to ensure a comfortable stay while in our grand city. House Rílvenar is at your service. And we are in your debt." Her gaze found Formora. "You have both brought home one of ours and redeemed us of the shame that has plagued us this past century."

Formora bowed her head. "I am at fault, my lady. I did not-"

Violmedr raised a hand, silencing her with a mere motion. "We have heard your confession, Formora Láerdhon. I do not blame you. The fault lies with the usurper-king Galbatorix. We will repay all the pain he has caused us in kind."

A quiet fell over the table. It was shortly interrupted by a knock at the door. Celdin rose up and answered it. He came back and bowed to Violmedr first, then Kiphoris and Formora. "Islanzadí Dröttning awaits the presence of Kiphoris-Vodhr, Ikharos Shadeslayer, and Formora Láerdhon."

Violmedr and Lifaen shared a knowing look. Ikharos glanced at Formora, hoping she had an explanation handy, but she was just as clueless as he. Ikharos stood, dipped his head, and said, "Thank you for the meal. May I excuse myself? I need to change into more fitting attire."

Violmedr nodded. "You may. Have you packed clothes with you?"

"Some."

"I will see to it that you are supplied with clothes of elven make."

"Uh, thank you. I don't want to impose."

"You are a guest, Shadeslayer. We will weave our finest Lámarae into a garb befitting of you."

Ikharos offered his thanks for the third time and hastily retreated up the smooth bark-and-wood stairs. His room was on the third floor, just behind a heavy, blank wooden door. He slipped in and stopped to gawk. It wasn't so much a room as it was an apartment. The main room was elegant, with a werelight trapped in a crystal cage in the centre of the ceiling above. The furniture was rich, stylish, and each piece looked immensely comfortable. If it had any function beyond being a place to relax, he couldn't pick up on it.

There was a large study with bookshelves packed with scrolls, occupied mostly by a heavy carved desk and a towering wooden chair, off to one side. Opposite it was what he imagined to be a wash room with a large mirror built into the smooth bark-covered wall and a simple tub.

The final room, and largest, was a neatly-furnished bedroom. The bed itself was large and laden with sheets made of yet another unfamiliar material, but just from a glance he could tell it was luxuriously soft.

" _We're living the good life_ ," Xiān giddily remarked.

He said nothing, only held out his arms. She appeared for an instant, just long enough to swap out his armour for his Reef livery. He swept his black cloak over one shoulder and walked into the washroom to look at himself in the mirror. He made use of the basin of water left out and hurriedly washed his face and hair, then dried himself off with a towel. The man he saw on the clear surface was still far from presentable.

Ikharos grimaced at the sight of the softly glowing marks running across the side of his skull. He pressed his fingers against the eldritch scars, but there was no change: he couldn't feel anything beyond a slight pressure. "It's not going away," he bitterly observed.

" _Hurry up._ "

He stayed to glare at himself for a few seconds longer, then left to meet with the others.

Kiphoris was waiting by the foot of the stairs, Kida beside him.

"What's the occasion?" Ikharos quickly asked in Low Eliksni, keeping his voice down.

"I do not know," Kiphoris muttered back. The Captain walked with him to the door. "But Islanzadí has gathered all those who are not elves."

"We just play along?"

Kiphoris nodded. "Until we find reason not to."

Everyone that had trekked alongside them from Tarnag to Ellesnméra, barring their elven guides, were present. Arke shivered her jaws and greeted Saphira with a low growl. The blue dragon returned it, playfully flicking the end of her tail.

"Is Obleker staying?" Ikharos asked Kiphoris.

" _Eia_."

He turned to Kida. "Remain here," he said in English, "and guard Obleker. Clear?"

Kida saluted. "Affirmative."

"Good boy." Ikharos faced Islanzadí. She, in turn, looked between him, Kiphoris, and finally to Formora.

"Follow me," she simply said, and began walking away. Her retinue - Arya, Lord Dathedr, and a handful of other elven aristocrats and courtiers - moved after her. Saphira, Eragon, and Orik went too, and from their expressions they were just as lost as Ikharos was.

After a moment's consideration, he shrugged and followed. Kiphoris and Formora walked on either side of him. Melkris and Javek brought up the rear, armed to the teeth. Arke stalked alongside them. Her every exhalation dispelled a faint pulse of purposeless dragon-magic. Ikharos tried his very best to ignore it.

Islanzadí led them all to the edge of Ellesméra, where she stopped and turned around to coolly regard them. "Before we go any farther, all of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

"Why should I gag myself?" Orik demanded.

Kiphoris shuttered his inner pair of eyes. " _Eia_. I am beholden to Tarrhis-Mrelliks. I cannot keep secrets from mine-people."

"It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs - it's our greatest advantage over Galbatorix - and if you are bound by the ancient language, you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, _Orik-vodhr_. You came to see Eragon and Saphira delivered to us unharmed, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_. Unless both of you give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dûr."

Orik begrudgingly acquiesced, but Kiphoris - noble, proud, cunning Kiphoris - growled deeply. His mandibles clacked against his jaw and his inner eyes were fully closed. "I am Scar-bound. I will keep no truths from _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_. If your secret means danger for mine-people, I will safeguard them." He glared at all the watching elves. His bubbling anger was obvious even to those uninitiated in Eliksni body language. "We will not cripple ourselves with chains of magic."

Ikharos coolly looked between the two. His impression of Islanzadí wasn't high, but he felt uneasy betraying his fellow hominids. That said, he couldn't help the keen feeling of kinship he had for the Eliksni. They were far from home and thrust into a wild world full of new magics and terrible monsters. He no more trusted their elven hosts than the Scars did.

He almost joined Kiphoris in opposing Islanzadí's verdict, but cool fingers lightly brushed over his arm.

" _This is overtly bold of her_ ," Formora whispered to his mind. " _Islanzadí Dröttning means what she says. It may be worth learning whatever secret they keep. Can you not slink out of the oath regardless?_ "

" _Unless I make my oath vaguely worded, no. It would otherwise be too direct a spell for me to destroy altogether. And I think our hosts would notice if I make a shifty promise. They strike me as being too sharp for their own good._ "

" _Then we must make a gamble._ "

" _Must we?_ "

" _Does curiosity not strike at you?_ "

" _It does, but I'm too wary to entertain it._ "

" _Whatever Islanzadí offers may be advantageous._ "

" _It may also be of dangerous._ "

" _Danger is a common constant in both our lives. Is this risk truly abnormal?_ "

" _There's foolishness in making such a daring claim._ " He relented. " _So be it. I'll make the oath._ "

Under Xiān's direction, Ikharos stepped closer to Kiphoris. It was a small gesture, and one he'd hardly pay any mind to under any other circumstances, but he tried to adopt the thinking of an elf. And it worked. It garnered attention - a flickering of disapproval flitted across Islanzadí's face and Kiphoris threw him a quick look of muted thanks.

However, he had another point to make. One more bluntly put in comparison.

"I am willing," he began, "to swear to secrecy in the ancient language because I have chosen to trust." He paused. "But trust goes both ways. If this is some sort of a trick, you'll have more than just a couple of disgruntled guests."

Islanzadí furrowed her brow. "This is no trick, Shadeslayer. The only offense taken will be self-inflicted, of that you have my word."

He wanted - no, _needed_ \- to cement himself as an independent party, not a decorative follower whose only purpose was to stand around.

"And I take none," Ikharos dipped his head out of respect - for her station mostly. She had failed many of his expectations thus far, and he didn't anticipate her meeting any others. "An angry Risen is never a quiet one. If I am upset, there will be no subtlety to my aggrieved state. Rest assured, I am only speaking out on the behalf of my allies." _Because you won't._

He looked over to Kiphoris. The Wolf quickly caught on. He calmed and allowed for an almost imperceptible nod. "So be it," he uttered gravely. "I will make mine-oath, but I expect fair treatment."

The queen's critical frown deepened. "You assume much of us, Kiphoris of House Scar."

"And you presume too little of mine-kin," Kiphoris retorted boldly. "I am not here to become a trifling entertainment."

Islanzadí fixed him with a stern, scrutinizing look. Seeming left unsatisfied, she looked around at the others and said, "For those who do not know the words, say this: _Hvaët eka eddyr uma eom sjon eka weohnata néiat share medh annaí némedh du eïnradhin abr Islanzadí Dröttning orono Arya Dröttningu_."

Those gathered - all who were not of elvenkind - echoed the oath. Formora was the very last to do so, prompted by expectant looks from Islanzadí and her gathered courtiers.

"Thank you," Islanzadí said. "Now we may proceed."

They walked on, soon reaching a knoll where the vast blanket of trees was replaced by a bed of red clover that ran several yards to the edge of a stone cliff. The rockface extended for miles in either direction, and a sea of rich pines and cedars stretched out to the horizons far below.

Ikharos looked around. _There's nothing-_

The dull thud split the air. Followed by a second. And a third. And a fourth, a fifth, a sixth, a seventh, and on and on. He grabbed his Lumina's grip. The sound was unmistakable. He'd heard it too many times to count over the course of the journey to Ellesméra. They were wingbeats.

He glanced at Formora. " _Is it...?_ "

She scanned the skies. " _It can't be. He killed them all. He..._ "

" _It's big_ ," Ikharos surmised. " _There's only a few creatures I know of large enough to be that loud. Is it truly out of question that he didn't kill every single one?_ "

" _He did. I know he did. He swore as much to taunt me. He had no reason to lie. Not while I was under his command._ "

" _Reality seldom meets our expectations._ "

Beyond their mental conversation, no one uttered a word. Silence reigned, broken only by the claps of heavy wings. From below the edge of the cliff rose a huge gold dragon with a Rider on its back. Ikharos watched Formora. Her eyes initially lit up with nothing short of sheer elation, but that quickly changed - and drastically too.

Something caught her attention, and her joy morphed into fear-stricken horror. Ikharos followed her gaze. The dragon hung in the air before the cliff. Its lustrous golden scales glittered in the morning light. It was three, perhaps four times as large as Saphira, and thicker of limb and tail. Its horns were incredibly large, providing for it a fearsome bony crown. The Rider, silver-haired and garbed in white, sat upon the crook of its back.

It was a breathtaking sight but it did little for him. The primal magnificence of draconic kind was largely unappealing. He didn't much care for it. Not as the elves so enthusiastically did.

Eragon stepped forward and fell to his knees, overcome with awe. _Him_ Ikharos could understand. The boy had little choice but to see dragons in a kinder light, bonded as he was.

As the dragon turned to land, Ikharos saw what struck Formora so, but he could not divine a connection between the scarred stump in place of one of the golden's dragon's forelimbs to her changing disposition.

A whirlwind of dry twigs and leaves heralded the dragon's return to solid ground. It swept its massive head around, first taking in the sight of Eragon, then Saphira, a lingering stare at Arke, and finally... Formora.

_They know each other._

Ikharos inched closer to her. The dragon noticed. He tightened his hold on his cannon in a way that the reptile could easily see. It was as close to saying " _Do anything, and I'll make you regret it_ " as he could get without actually speaking.

The Rider carefully descended from his steed along the dragon's intact front right leg, then approached Eragon, his hands clasped before him. He was an elf with silver hair. He had an air of great sadness and compassion about him. It was familiar. Too familiar.

* * *

_The Speaker sighed. It was a sound borne of pent up frustration and helplessness. "It will leave us."_

* * *

His free hand balled into a fist.

"Osthato Chetowä," Eragon said. "The Mourning Sage... As you asked, I have come." He touched his lips. " _Atra esterní ono thelduin_."

The elven Rider smiled. He took Eragon by the shoulders and lifted him upright. "Oromis is my proper name, Eragon."

Formora took a step back.

" _What's wrong?_ " Ikharos asked her.

" _They're... They're alive._ " Her eyes never left the dragon.

" _Who are they?_ "

She didn't answer him, too caught up to summon a response.

"You knew."

Ikharos swiveled around. Islanzadí glared at the elven Rider, her voice growing in volume. Her face was flushed with fury. "You knew of Eragon's existence and yet you did not tell me? Why have you betrayed me, Shur'tugal?"

Oromis transferred his gaze onto the queen. "I kept my peace because it was uncertain if Eragon or Arya would live long enough to come here; I had no wish to give you a fragile hope that might have been torn away at any moment."

The queen raged. "You had no right to withhold such information from me! I could have sent warriors to protect Arya, Eragon, and Saphira in Farthen Dûr and to escort them safely here."

"I hid nothing from you, Islanzadí, but what you had already chosen not to see," Oromis rebuked. "If you had scryed the land, as is your duty, you would have discerned the source of the chaos that has swept Alagaësia and learned the truth of Arya and Eragon." His eyes drifted over to Ikharos. He, in turn, offered the Rider nothing of his emotions or his thoughts, setting his features into a cold, unreadable mask. "But there was never any danger. From the moment I learned of the troubles set to reach Tronjheim, salvation was already flying to their rescue." He switched his focus to Formora. His smile lessened fractionally.

Islanzadí's shoulders slumped. "I am dimished," she whispered.

Ikharos felt not an inkling of pity for her. It took all his willpower to keep from speaking out and ridiculing her. If it weren't for the proximity of the unfamiliar dragon, he might have even failed at that.

The great golden dragon craned its Pike-sized head around and looked at Formora with one massive golden eye. "... _You_."

Formora bowed her head. "I... My regret is without end. Glaedr-Elda, I was-"

"We have been informed of what drove you," Oromis declared. His tone made clear that he was far from pleased... but not quite angry. "We knew you were troubled, but to fly to _his_ arms?"

Formora froze. Her fear turned into something else. "... To his arms?" She whispered. "You believe that we voluntarily offered ourselves up? That _I_ offered myself up?"

"Is it not the truth?"

"We were trapped!"

"Trapped, yes, but was it not a trap you willingly flew into?" Oromis challenged.

"There was nothing willing about it! He broke into my mind and tied every part of me to his command!" She trembled - with anxiousness or anger, Ikharos could not discern. "I was a slave. He took everything from me. Do not presume to know me - you, who failed to see the threat he posed, who advised the order to abandon the people we swore to protect."

Anger, then.

Glaedr growled. The sound reverberated through the ground beneath their feet. " _You have always struggled beneath the yoke of authority. You made the first step. To rebel is in your nature._ "

" _Was_ my nature," Formora tiredly corrected. She exhaled, slowly. Her shoulders dropped. "I was forced to change it to escape him. Alone."

At that, Glaedr ceased and pulled back as if burnt. Oromis solemnly bowed his head. He walked forward. Ikharos tensed, but Formora touched his elbow and shook her head.

The elder Rider stopped three paces before her and said, in a grim and apologetic voice, "Your loss is one I can scarcely imagine. Had we known-"

"No," Formora bit out. "Don't. If we discuss that, what civility we cling to will devolve into accusations and pain."

"Very true." Oromis scrutinized her intensely. "... You have found your bearings."

Formora frowned; she was evidently caught off guard.

"I always recalled you to be ill-fit for the life decided for you," Oromis continued. "I attributed your fall to one of desperate longing for a new vocation."

"Only partially true. It was overconfidence and carelessness," Formora tiredly replied. "I thought myself above the dark ministrations of an outcast. A mistake I paid for dearly."

"A mistake to be rectified?"

"Yes. As you may have noticed, I have already begun." She motioned to the watching Eliksni. "See the changes I bring. The companions I keep. All in an effort to settle the scales."

Oromis smiled at Kiphoris, Javek, and Melkris in turn, looking over each of them with bared curiosity and open welcome. "A fair effort."

"Alas, I fear nothing will outweigh the blood spilled."

The older Rider's smile fell. "Blood is a heavy weight to bear."

"And it's pulling me to the ocean floor."

" _Good_ ," Glaedr growled, accentuating the retort with an angry snap of his jaws. Formora half-heartedly glared at him. Guilt robbed it of its sting.

Satisfied, Oromis turned back to Ikharos. The Warlock's heart raced - there was something in the Rider's stare that didn't sit right with him. An unwarranted familiarity. Ikharos held the Void close. All it would take was one wrong move, and he could cut down both Rider and dragon where they-

"... You are here," Oromis breathed. A note of excitement accompanied the elf's words. Murmuring and confusion swept through those watching, but Ikharos ignored them in favour of focusing on the man before him. " _Eld domia dauthné_ _._ "

Ikharos shivered. He almost shot the Rider then and there. The phrase - _Dominator of the avoidance of mortality_ \- struck a chord in him. It reached into his very core and played his soul like an instrument.

It terrified him.

"You know?" He croaked. "How?"

Oromis smiled gently. He radiated geniality and patience. Despite himself, Ikharos could only respond with mistrust and disdain. There was no rational thought behind it - he felt an instinctual need to fight back. He _needed_ to act on some sort of aggressive action - if only as an outlet for the sudden onset of fear and paranoia.

"How?" He repeated, more forcibly. He narrowed his eyes, just to convey that no amount of smiles would disarm him of his suspicion.

Oromis stalled. The elf drew himself up - not confrontationally so, but rather to convey his own ability to stand tall in the face of hostility. He held himself as independent and capable, and yet there was still some measure of deference to Ikharos.

The Warlock recalled Formora's warnings about postures and actions. Even the most trivial of movements held meaning. He finally understood how important it was - to see it in action was far more convincing than any vocalized explanation. It was yet another language he had to learn.

"If you find it agreeable, I would like to speak with you," Oromis carefully requested. "I believe there is much that we must discuss."

"I would like that very much." Ikharos watched him just as closely. He checked for the slightest hint of malevolent intent and found nothing. It only made him more uneasy.

Oromis's gaze flitted over to the Eliksni so quickly that Ikharos barely caught it. It took him another couple of seconds before he deciphered the meaning behind it. The Rider was, in his own way, asking permission to move on. It was polite. More than Ikharos deserved. He, in turn, gave the slightest of nods: _go ahead_.

He stepped back, just one pace, so he stood in line with Formora and Melkris. Their presence boasted support and safety, even if they didn't know it. They were a safeguard to keep his back covered as he traversed the unknown.

**000**

:: _Sybil-3, Sybil-3, this is Druid-4, come in. Over_ _._ ::

She stopped walking and sidled past a black marble column. On instinct, one of her hands rose up as if to hold the imaginary field radio closer to her ear. When she noticed, Sibyl scowled and dropped it against her side. Her fingers dug into the metal of her palm.

:: _Druid-4, this is Sybil-3. Go ahead. Over._ ::

:: _Enlightened-Delta-III reporting unusual bio-energy readings. Over_.::

She smothered a pang of impatience. He was just doing his job. :: _Make this quick. Waystation status? Over_ _._ ::

His reply came through as a buzzing grumble. :: _Horizon clear. Over._ ::

:: _Understood. Send data-feed ASAP. Over._ ::

:: _Roger wilco. Over and out._ ::

She sighed with phantom lungs and stepped back out into the corridor to resume her march. A grand door waited at the end, black as night with white veins crackling across like lightning. Two Strife-born stood guard with their molecular-sharp cannibal-forged halberds crossed in front of it. She didn't say anything and neither did they. There was nothing to be said.

The door opened an hour later. The halberds uncrossed. Dervales drifted through. Ribbons of red and gold streamed from his sharp shoulders. His horns gleamed magnificently in the lantern light.

Sibyl-3 bowed her head. "Seneschal Harmonic."

"You are here to speak with Her Ever-Grace?" He elegantly sang. She could taste the titanium residue on his exoskeleton.

She nodded. A sense of foreboding - irrational, ridiculous, ultimately wise - loomed in where she imagined her heart had once been. A place that beat no more. "I am."

Dervales swept out an arm behind him. His body dazzled. Muscles and bones swam beneath the natural-grown metal that clothed him like a skin-tight glove. "O enraptured ours... she awaits."

She took advantage of the open invitation and walked on. Dervales swept ahead. His every movement was full of dazzling beauty. Sibyl forced herself to look away.

The corridor stretched on and on. Pedestals lined the walls, upon which were seated grand crystals of incredible size and magnificent quality. They chimed and trilled as she passed, each perfect note more alluring than the last. An enchanting choir consisting solely of gems.

Another set of doors lay at the end of the hall. Unlike the last, however, it boasted no guards of any sort. The din of whispered chanting drifted out through the crack between the doors. She couldn't make out what was being said, nor did she want to. The business of the Enlightened was their own. She was happier sticking with what she knew.

The doors opened upon their approach, though they were pulled by no hand or mechanism. Beyond waited a vaguely oval room with a smooth pit in the centre. A glaive stood balanced on the floor before the pit. A half-dozen Enlightened knelt before it, swaying and praying to their matron.

Sibyl steeled her nerves. She had only been twice before and it never failed to make her imaginary heart race. She could practically hear it.

_Thum-thump._

_Thum-thump._

_Thum-thump._

A wordless voice of unparalleled beauty cut through the intonations. The Enlightened fell silent. As one, they rose to their feet. All but two turned and filed past Sibyl and Dervales. The remaining pair - one horned, the other crowned with crimson braids - remained where they were. Their red eyes found her. One of them smiled.

Sibyl seethed. She hadn't come for them. She had no patience for-

"Peace."

She stilled.

A form rose from the circular pit. It was little more than a silhouette of shadow, but the power behind it was yet impossible to dismiss.

"Peace," it, _She_ , said again. Gently. Tenderly. Motherly.

"Forgive my intrusion, your Ever-Grace." Sibyl went down on one knee and locked her gaze on the obsidian floor.

"Rise, o machine-born daughter mine." The immaterialized figure stood above them all. Two misted horns swept back from a blank face. "You are troubled, yes? You come in search of guidance?"

"I do," Sibyl admitted. She cast the two Enlightened a disdainful look - she didn't want them to hear.

"They are my children too," the silhouette reminded her. "Squabble if you so wish, but do not forget to cherish them. They have gone to great lengths to join us."

"As you say." Sibyl looked away.

"What ails you? Is it... impatience? Frustration? Lack of understanding? Concern?"

Sibyl blinked. As useless as the human gesture was, she felt, deep down, that it was the right response. "All of those."

"And this is... because of your soldiers?"

Sibyl didn't answer. Not immediately. She took a while to simmer in the broth of emotions that had her by her throat. Yet, after a time, the truth was wrung out of her - not with force, but with loving compassion. "Yes. They're my soldiers. My kids."

"You fear for their future?"

"The bugs have their datachips."

"And you believe this places their souls in danger."

There was no question. Sibyl raised her optics - not to glare, just to look. The silhouette defied belief. It was a dark mirror in which a thousand splendid songs melded together in perfect harmony.

 _Harmony_.

"Why?" Sibyl asked.

The silhouette cupped her edged cheeks in hands devoid of warmth. "We must listen to their song."

"The bugs? Or the renegade?"

"All of them. All songs deserve to be heard. All songs deserve to be remembered."

Sibyl offlined her optics. "Thus all songs will survive within the notes of our orchestra. So sayeth Nezarec, Composer of the Final Verse."

Though she could not see it, she sensed the shadow's pleased grin. "The fifth Understanding. Indeed, o daughter mine. It is so. Then is this purpose your soldiers are carrying out not the noblest of all? Is it not the bravest sacrifice they could make? They are so selfless. Your children are devoted. I will cherish them for you."

They would be cherished. Cared for. Loved. Relief fell upon Sibyl. She hummed and carefully broke away. "I see now."

"You do."

"It was never the datachip that would save us. It was always... _Him_ ," she whispered.

"None will be forgotten," Ezyrax vowed in her Harmonic tongue. "Their songs will help build the greatest performance of all."

Sibyl offered a wavering smile. It was all she had to give.

:: _Sybil-3, Sybil-3, this is Druid-4, come in. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday_.::

She turned around. :: _Druid-4, Sybil-3 here. What's your status? Over._ ::

:: _Bio-energy readings identified. Code: Black Hammer. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday_.::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	49. Wonders of Ellesméra

The tea scalded his tongue. Its subtle flavour washed over his taste buds and suffixed within him a strange sense of tranquility.

It was perfect. Exactly what he'd been missing for nigh on a year.

"Thank you," Ikharos said quietly. "Where'd you get your stock?"

Oromis poured himself a cup and inclined his head in the direction of Ellesméra. "The leaves are grown in the Ilithia Hall. I am sure that they would acquiesce to any request you make. You are an honoured guest - the luxuries of our city are at your disposal."

"Are they?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow. "From what I've seen, Islanzadí isn't that fond of allowing outsiders free reign."

Oromis sipped his drink. "You are new to us, bearing strange tiding and stranger powers. But rest assured, I will make every effort to speak on your behalf. If you have come this far, then you are no enemy."

It was a kind offer. Too kind. Formora and Eragon looked between him and Oromis in surprise. The dragons - Glaedr, Saphira, and the utterly disinterested Arke - momentarily broke their study of one another to curiously look over at them.

Oromis's spot at the Crags of Tel'naeír was idyllic and secluded. A bare path led from the precipice to the doorstep of a low hut grown between the trunks of four trees, one of which straddled a stream that emerged from the moody depths of the forest. The ground fell as a sheer drop two hundred feet in the other direction.

Oromis had picked the perfect place to live in solitude. Ikharos felt touched that the elder Rider would invite him to his home. And, again, suspicious. The old elf knew something - certainly enough about Risen. _And_ him.

Four stools had been carried out. On three of them were seated the three Riders. Ikharos had never felt so out of place.

"We going to cut to the chase or drag this on?" Ikharos said bluntly.

Oromis's eyes went wide for a brief moment. Then he chuckled. In quite an unelvish fashion. "So the tales are true." He leaned back and observed Ikharos without any restraint or hesitation.

"Tales?" Ikharos replied.

"Ancient scrolls and dragon-dreams."

"And what do those tales tell?"

"That the _Eld domia dauthné_ were strong of body, bright of mind, harsh of tongue, and unending in years."

"Yeah," Ikharos muttered. "That's pretty much us."

"And they lived hand-in-hand with death."

"Again, us."

"You're... immortal," Eragon stated, looking at Ikharos. This time it was no question.

"I am, to some extent," he allowed.

"How?"

Ikharos paused. _No hiding it now._ "Because of Xiān."

Only Formora understood. She idly gazed into her own mug, content to let the conversation flow on without her. The other two Riders wore befuddled expressions - Oromis did so with a slightly more refined air.

Ikharos held out a hand. Xiān materialized above it. He curled his fingers on instinct, as if to shield her from the sudden stares of the nearby dragons.

Arke peered over with a newfound fascination. "Little Light," she whispered.

Xiān blinked. "Toothy chicken."

The Ahamkara laughed ever so softly. "You are a delight."

Glaedr trained his eyes on Arke with what Ikharos imagined to be uneasiness. If the golden dragon had reached out to her mind, he did not know.

Ikharos frowned. It was yet another conundrum he would have to solve. He doubted he held any more sway over Glaedr than he did Saphira - likely less so.

But they had to listen to their Riders. One simply couldn't ignore a partner-of-mind. And that route looked all the more appealing.

Xiān twirled around to face Oromis. "Hi," she said pleasantly.

Oromis leaned forward. "... Greetings, little... Light?"

"Ghost."

"Little Ghost?"

"Just Ghost. Unless you want to be an ass."

"... Ah. Greetings, Ghost."

"Elf."

"Excuse me?"

"I have a name."

"I am sorry." Oromis smiled apologetically. As if he were talking to a child. A brief flush of white-hot anger told Ikharos that it was not well received. "What is your name?"

"Xiān," she said curtly. "Speak blunt, speak in riddles, but don't speak down to me... _elfie_."

Formora's sigh was the only sound to break the painful silence.

Ikharos winced. Glaedr's harsh, and highly anticipated, growl was not long in coming. " _Watch your tongue_ ," the golden dragon mentally snapped.

Xiān, without so much as a shred of hesitation, turned on him and snarked, "Funny thing, that. Don't have one."

" _Are you a child? My meaning was clear._ "

Oromis raised a hand. Glaedr fell silent. "No, the fault is mine. Apologies, Xiān." The name sounded odd coming from him. The Rider almost tripped over the pronunciation.

"Apologies accepted." She never let her burning eye stray from the dragon.

Oromis's curiosity returned, but with a blunted edge to it. He'd been burned and had no intention of enduring the same sensation again. "What _are_ you? You call yourself a Ghost?"

"Yeah."

"And what-"

"Light," Ikharos interrupted. "She's living Light."

"Light is magic," Formora added helpfully. "Separate to our own, and far more... potent?" She looked at him questioningly.

Ikharos nodded stiffly. "That's certainly _a_ way to put it."

Oromis hummed. "And this magic, this Light... It can raise the dead?"

Ikharos hesitated. "Not exactly. What you're describing is necromancy. It's more commonly associated with the Dark - the opposing force to the Light. No, we Risen aren't so much inclined to necromancy as we are avoiding the finality within death. The Light pushes us onto the right path, courtesy of Ghosts."

"You speak of death as if it were a road rather than an end."

"Because death _is_ a road. A metamorphosis of sorts. A grand test - but only a few possess the ability to pass it."

Oromis settled him with a strange look. "And you passed it?"

Ikharos didn't answer immediately. He glanced at Xiān. "Not alone. It was a two-fold effort. I needed someone to light the way." He shifted back. "You want to know about immortality. That's what this is about."

"I do," Oromis admitted.

"Don't go thinking it's something that can just be given. Or even earned. Immortality is not gained, but created. And the price is death."

"I... do not follow. Death?"

"It's a hefty subject to tackle. For some measure of understanding, I'd recommend Marvo Teralef's _On Death and Life_ Volumes one to three." Ikharos looked past the Rider to his humble home. "But I suspect you don't have a datapad handy. Perhaps you could borrow one off Gilderien to receive the files."

Oromis blinked. As did Eragon. Their confusion was palpable.

"How would you know if Gilderien has a datapad?" Formora asked.

Ikharos shrugged. "I don't, but I wager it isn't out of question if he has access to simulation tech."

"Simulation tech?"

"Being there without actually being there."

"... Ah, the illusion."

"Exactly."

She nodded to herself. "That does explain a great deal."

Xiān flew from his shoulder and did a loop around his head. He stolidly ignored her.

Oromis watched her fly. "Many of the things you speak of are lost on me."

"Our lives are vastly different. That's to be expected."

"Forgive me, but... what is it Xiān does?"

"Keeps me alive," Ikharos murmured. "Provides me with company, guidance, and bad advice. She's my guardian angel and the devil on my shoulders wrapped up in one tiny shell."

"And-"

"Yes, all Risen have Ghosts."

"From what I have observed," Formora said delicately, taking over for him, "Ghosts and Risen share a bond not dissimilar to that between Rider and dragon. In fact, they may have been the..." She winced. "The inspiration for the Blood-Oath woven in the years after Dur Fyrn Skulblaka."

Oromis slowly absorbed all they said. By his troubled frown, Ikharos could tell that the old elf either didn't believe most of it or simply didn't appreciate it.

"My turn," Ikharos quickly said before the elf could field any more queries. "How do you know about me?"

"Your actions here, in Alagaësia, have not gone unnoticed. Ancient wards scattered throughout the land were-"

"Not that. How do you know what I am? How is it you, alone of all Alagaësia's inhabitants, know what I am?"

"Not alone," Formora muttered. "The Shades were well aware."

Ikharos inclined his head. "So they were. Much to our detriment. Regardless, my question still stands." Xiān landed on his upturned palm. A dull warmth pulsed just beneath her shell. Her pinions twitched and turned so they didn't stick into the flesh of his hand.

There was no way in any language to describe how much he adored her.

"Ancient scrolls and dragon-dreams," Oromis repeated.

Ikharos tilted his head. "Whose scrolls? Which dragon's dreams?"

Glaedr crawled over. The sound of scales scratching over earth and rock was explosive. " _We dragons do not write. We do not scrawl on walls, vellum, or paper to keep our pasts alive. We carry our histories through memories and lessons instead. My forebears whispered of those who once walked the land we stand upon. Foes and allies both. Predators unequaled._ " His teeth flashed. " _Are you one such predator_ _?_ "

Ikharos caught the dragon's eye. "I don't care for boasting," Ikharos said carefully.

Arke chuckled softly. "Kingslayer," she purred. "Rivenbane. End-of-Hive."

"End-of-You in a minute," he grumbled. He turned back to the elves plus human. "And the scrolls?"

"Ah, yes." Oromis glanced back at his hut. "Ancient dwarven records correlate with the faded memories of dragons past, though they are often difficult to decipher. Our libraries of Vroengard held more valuable scrolls left by the Grey Folk. I once devoted many years to studying them, but I, like many others, only found limited success in interpreting their strange speech. Of your people, the _Eld domia dauthné_ , there were many mentions."

"The Grey Folk?" Eragon asked. It was one of the few times he spoke up.

Oromis smiled kindly. "A story for another time."

Ikharos cleared his throat. "Have any of those scrolls with you?"

The old Rider shook his head. "No. Alas, they were lost during the Dragon war - seized or destroyed by Galbatorix."

* * *

_The stone pavement was cracked and broken by the combined effort of time and determined weeds. At the end, a massive temple loomed, its roof collapsed and doors smashed in. It was even worse on the inside. All that remained was scorched stone and piles of ash. All that had once been stored in the archives were long gone._

* * *

"So it was." Ikhars shifted. "I saw the destruction he left in his wake. The loss of so much learning is nothing short of a travesty."

"You saw the library?" Oromis asked, surprised.

"I showed him," Formora answered in a low voice. "It was just after we met."

"And it was there you saw fit to strike an alliance?"

Ikharos met Formora's eyes. "In short, yes," he said. "It was a gradual thing, but we did."

She relaxed. Then tensed once more. "It was an alliance of equal gain," she began, "at first. But we... Oromis-elda, we... we uncovered the truth - behind Galbatorix, behind Durza, and behind the disappearance of the Grey Folk."

"The truth?" Oromis assumed a puzzled look. "Galbatorix went mad due to pain and heartbreak. There is no truth beyond that."

"I thought the same," Formora persisted. "But it's more than that. Durza was nothing more than a puppet. As is..." She took a deep breath. "As is Galbatorix."

Glaedr growled. " _A puppet? To whom?_ "

"We went in search of that. Unknowingly, at the time." Ikharos looked down. "We found a Grey Folk city north of Vroengard. Lost to mist and Dark."

"And we found them. _Him_." Formora shivered. "We found a god."

**000**

Lifaen was laughing. Human laughter was different. Odd. They just didn't have the mandibles to laugh like Eliksni. Melkris didn't mind. As long as there were smiles, he was content to keep his jokes running.

His eyes drifted back to the game board. A series of discordant patterns greeted him. The green tiles were more orderly - a cause for frustration. Why couldn't his blues do the same?

"I will never understand this," he grumbled dramatically.

Lifaen said something. Melkris had no idea what. He just liked to hear the musical elven voice draw out the ever-odd human words.

"I think he's saying it's your turn," Javek murmured. "Or he wants to eat you."

Melkris bared his teeth in a broad smile. "Eat me? I taste horrible. An Erechaani told me that."

Javek stared at him. "... You are strange," he decided. He pointed to the board. "It must be your go, then."

"What if I don't take a turn?"

"Then the game stalls."

"And you would all be upset. I cannot abide that." Melkris nudged one of his blue tiles. "There! A rune!"

Javek scoffed. "Oh yes, very mature. But the human cannot read it."

"Say it to him."

"I cannot speak their language well."

"Bah, just try!"

" _Nama_." Javek shook his head. "I will not. I will be no puppet to your ridiculous tendencies."

The door to their not-so-humble abode opened. Ikharos strolled in and closed it behind him. His half-hearted movements screamed exhaustion - though he had been away only a fraction of a local day. It wasn't even dark out!

" _Kirzen_!" Melkris greeted. He flushed his voice with amiability. "How was your discussion with the Beast Rider?"

"Slow," the human-not-human replied. His grasp on Eliksni was superb - it never failed to amaze Melkris. "Exhausting. And ultimately disappointing."

"He, ah, had nothing interesting to offer you?" Javek questioned.

Ikharos nodded glumly. He wandered over and exchanged soft words with Lifaen. Seeing the rune, his entire demeanour shifted. A smile broke out across his malleable human face and banished all traces of sullenness. "Melkris," he playfully admonished. "That's a... very forward thing to say."

Melkris grinned right back. "Not me, _Ikha Riis_. It was Javek."

The Splicer spluttered indignantly. "You-!"

"I'm going to wash and change," Ikharos announced. "If Kiph is looking for me, point him that way. But tell him to knock."

" _Eia_ , _eia_ , I will," Melkris said.

"I mean it. Or there will be hell to pay."

"I will warn him. Do not worry."

"But I have to. That's my job." And like that, their Machine-Chosen human was gone. Lifaen moved another of his tiles, creating a perfect serpent.

"I prefer the rune," Melkris told him. Lifaen, being the elf he was, gave no indication of having understood.

"I bet you do," Javek grumbled, "you great _psesiskar_."

Melkris, in his infinite wisdom, chose to ignore him. "Formora must have remained to speak with the Riders."

"Probably."

"Pity for you, eh?"

Javek shuttered his inner eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Melkris chittered mischievously.

Javek, for the umpteenth time that day, fitfully glared at him. "She teaches me magic. If you are insinuating-"

"It is not her you like? Perhaps... _Kirzen_?"

Javek growled. "I do not see the humans that way. That is just you, what with your..." He waved towards the rune, "horrible messages."

"I adore them!" Melkris exclaimed. "They are so very interesting! And amusing, and strange, and exotic, and clever, and silly. They are so very like us, even if they look so odd."

"Not that odd."

"Oh, very odd. See?" He reached out to Lifaen. The elf froze as a claw tapped his cheek. "Squishy. Squishier than Uluru. More like Psions."

Javek scoffed. "Humans have bones."

"So do Psions."

"Not as many as humans. Too much cartilage. Psions are squishier."

" _Eia_ , maybe. Humans are the perfect amount of squishy."

"... You are not strange. More than that. You are demented."

"I am not wrong."

"I do not think there is a 'perfect' amount of squishy."

Melkris gestured to Lifaen. "Want to feel?"

Javek paused. "... He looks unhappy with you. I will not."

"What if you ask Formora?"

"Melkris!" Javek slapped his shoulder. Melkris couldn't do anything other than laugh at the Splicer's scandalized expression.

It felt good to laugh. And to know that others found just as much joy. Javek included, but it was deep down. Melkris knew there was a part of the Splicer that enjoyed it all, despite his claims to the latter.

Laughter was something he couldn't help but chase after fanatically, for the times without laughter always felt too quiet. He hated it when the world went quiet. It always felt like there was something else to mourn. Another loss to suffer. Laughter filled in the empty gaps.

* * *

Ikharos returned before long, garbed in less extravagant clothing. His head-fur shone, having been doused in water, and carried with it a faint scent of something mildly pleasant. He carried a sheathed blade and said something to Lifaen. The elf responded, and then the game board was swept aside.

"What is happening?" Melkris asked.

Ikharos held up his sword. "I'm trying to find the elf responsible for forging these weapons. I intend to ask her to repair Orúm."

"Ah! The weapon snapped by the Star-Eater?"

The human grimaced. "Yes. That one."

"May I accompany you? This place is too stifling for me, and I would like to see more of this city."

"Has Kiph ordered otherwise?"

" _Nama_."

"I don't see why not. Javek?"

The Splicer clicked his fangs together. "The offer is appreciated, _Ikha Riis_ , but I shall remain. I must tend to Obleker and offer him tribute."

"Send him my regards." Ikharos frowned. "Can one send regards to a Servitor?"

" _Eia_. He will appreciate yours, Kirzen. I know it."

"Mine?" Melkris perked up.

Javek glared at him. "No. Go away."

Melkris placed a hand over his hearts. "That is wounding. Our Splicer loves me not!"

"Oh, end your dramatics!"

He rose with a chuckle and shouldered his wire rifle. He reaffixed his facemask over his jaws and tested it with a heavy huff. His ether tanks were empty, so all he was rewarded with was freshly filtered air. "I am ready, _Kirzen_."

"Just a moment." Ikharos turned to Lifaen. The elf said something and nodded. More words were exchanged.

"I need to learn their language," Melkris decided.

Javek snorted. "You? Learn? I doubt it."

"You don't think I can?"

"You have not the intelligence."

"Oh, you _Ba'sha_!"

Javek beat a hasty retreat. Melkris mock-snarled at the fleeing Splicer.

Ikharos lazily looked over. "Everything alright?"

Melkris closed his outer eyes. " _Eia_."

"We're leaving now. If you need something, grab it."

"I have all I need here." He patted his rifle.

Ikharos made a strange expression. It was amusing to watch. "Ah. But I... I don't plan on killing anyone."

"Neither do I," Melkris tilted his head. "But we might be attacked by beasts."

"I'm not so sure there's... _Nama_. It doesn't matter. Let's go."

* * *

The city was alive and yet wasn't. Melkris didn't know if it was because humans at large were not as tightly-knit as Eliksni or if it was just the elves being their strange selves, because there was no bustle to be found. No crowds gathered. No markets roared. It was... disconcerting.

Ceunon had been more vibrant, even after the Cabal had crushed its spirit.

That said, there were still marvels to be witnessed. He watched as an elven male softly guided a magnificent flowering plant into form. The petals were bright and gifted with a vast array of colours.

It reminded him of the baubles his sire had saved from Riis. Pictures of a world he would never know.

Another elf laughed and sang with nearby birds. A third - with strange proportions for a human - stared right back at him from between two trees and then bounded out of sight like a common beast.

"Strange, no?" Ikharos murmured.

Melkris agreed. "Very."

"They... I don't approve of them, and yet they fascinate me. They are more like my kind than Awoken, but less too. I don't know what to make of it."

"I prefer the dwarves," Melkris admitted. "And the other humans. They do not frighten me as elves do."

"They _are_ frightening, aren't they?"

There was no more to be said. They fell silent and picked up the pace. Lifaen didn't say a word - he led them onwards, through winding paths and open glades. They were some distance from Violmedr's hall when they reached an enclosed atrium made of tree trunks. In the centre of it was an unwalled hut, in which stood a clever (if primitive) forge.

Melkris gawked at it. It was a workshop worthy of an Archon. Where he, and others, could come to prove their worth and increase their stations.

A figure worked at the forge. The elven Archon perhaps? He fielded the question to Ikharos.

"I don't think they have an Archon," the human replied. "Only a Kell - Islanzadí."

Melkris stalled. Only a Kell? Then... who would advise her? Who would tend to the souls of her people? Was that why the elves behaved so oddly?

The person at the forge - a she-elf with a face full of weariness - turned to them. She bit out something in a voice rougher than Melkris thought possible for her ethereal kind. Lifaen bowed. Ikharos did not.

Melkris followed Ikharos's lead. Bowing to strangers was a mark of weak-will.

She frowned at him and asked something. Ikharos answered with, "Eliksni." Then he said something else and held up Orúm. The she-elf gingerly took the sheathed weapon - Ikharos did not resist. She grasped the hilt and pulled it out.

She was evidently not expecting it to be broken, because the second half of the blade slipped out and clattered on the floor of her hut. She said not a word. Neither did Lifaen. They stared at the broken hilt, uncomprehending.

Then the she-elf released a stringent of what were assumedly curses. Or a scolding. If it was the latter, then Ikharos didn't look like he particularly cared.

Melkris tugged on the Kingkiller's arm. "What are they saying?"

Ikharos spared him a look, and thought he possessed only two eyes, it was father-stern. "A moment, please. Xiān?"

A buzzing filled Melkris's eardrums. It receded after an irritating moment. The elves were speaking, but he still couldn't-

"-short of impossible!" The elder elf bit out.

"I can understand," Melkris whispered. "Thank you, _Kirzen_."

"What, not me?" A small voice snapped through his helmet's speakers.

He chuckled. "And you, little Xiān. Thank you very much. You are mine-favourite."

"And don't forget it!"

Ignoring them, Ikharos gestured to the sword. "Here's evidence to the contrary. Can you fix it?"

"Who are you?" The she-elf demanded.

"Me?" The Kingkiller tilted his head. "Ikharos Torstil. New arrival, so-"

"Ah. Yes. I've heard of you." The elderly elf scrutinized him. "The world beyond my forge is of little interest to me, and yet news continues to trickle in. I have been told you are an ally of Formora Rílvenar." She lifted the hilt. "She gifted you this?"

"That a problem?"

"... No." The she-elf paused. "I am Rhunön."

"Can you please fix my sword," Ikharos begged in a dead voice.

Rhunön scoffed. "No flowery language?"

"I'm tired, give me a break."

"Tired of what?"

"Inane talk."

The old elf frowned. "Then don't talk."

"It'll insult people."

"If silence disturbs them, then they are not worth the effort."

"Therein lies my problem. There's a city full of them. Look, can you fix the sword or not?"

"No."

"No? Won't or can't?"

"Can't. I have sworn not to."

"Aw, psekisk. Why?"

Rhunön looked utterly fed up. Then again, Melkris could have been misreading the situation. It was difficult to tell what the two-eyed humans were feeling. "I swore to never create instruments of death again. Not after... No. I will not."

"You're not creating a weapon, just fixing."

"My oath is binding."

"Can I at least use your forge?"

Lifaen gasped. Ikharos didn't even deign to look at him. Rhunön crossed her arms. "You can work with metal?" She asked. It was a challenge. A test.

Ikharos nodded. "Have done, likely will again. Is there something special about your forge, or is it-"

"It is the process and material that give my weapons their durability and sharpness," she admitted sharply.

"Ah. You wouldn't happen to have any... what was it, bright metal?"

"Brightsteel. I do not." She sighed fitfully. "And I will not allow my tools to fall into the hands of someone with no prior experie-"

"I've dabbled in metalworking before. It isn't new to me."

"... Show me your craft, and I will decide whether you are fit to make use of my forge or not."

Ikharos held out a hand grabbed hold of his other blade just as it was transmatted before him. "Here."

Rhunön stared at him and then the blade. After a moment, she tossed Orúm onto a nearby workbench and took the second sword from him. "This is... your work?"

"Yes."

She looked up sharply. "Why are you so driven to repair Orúm if you have this?"

"Because _this_ ," Ikharos gestured to the unbroken blade, "doesn't suit me nearly so well. The design I based it off was a Hive Cleaver so... well, they're brutish weapons, and even my take on it can't ward away their clunky, obtuse nature. It'll cut through armour easy, but there's no finesse in it."

"You want finesse?"

"I want a weapon that feels like an extension of my arm. Orúm did that. Eternity's Edge does not."

Rhunön looked it over. She ran her hand down the length of the blade, almost nicking her fingers on the molecular-thin edge. "It is... well-made," she begrudgingly said. She lifted it up and brought it down on a nearby stool. The sword carved right through the wood and carried on deep into the floor. "And it is of commendable quality."

"Thank you." Ikharos dipped his head.

"I detect no wards around or within it."

"Another reason I'd like to wield Orúm instead."

"How did you manage to break my blade?"

"Star-Eater."

"What?"

"A big, hungry monster," Ikharos said nonchalantly. "I stabbed it in the eye, but it didn't seem seem too keen in having a sword in its head."

"It broke Orúm?"

"Yeah."

"Where was this?"

"Beneath Du Fells Nángoröth."

"But why-"

"We were trying to kill a storm."

Rhunön stared at him for a long, long time. Finally, she shook her head. "You are a strange man."

"So I've been told. Have I passed your test?"

"I suppose so."

"I'll be back in a day or two. May I have my swords, please?"

"Take them."

Ikharos did so. Xiān - still unseen - transmatted them away. Rhunön took a step back.

"How do you keep doing that?"

"Transmat. Lifaen here knows all about it - I'm sure he'd love to tell you."

Lifaen looked between them. He opened his mouth, then thought better of it.

"Thank you for your time, Rhunön-elda," Ikharos turned around. "Come on, Melkris."

* * *

"That was illuminating."

Melkris spared his companion a glance as they walked. "It was?"

Ikharos nodded. "Very much so. There's nothing beyond magic and steel involved in the creation of a Rider's sword. It should prove simple to emulate." He breathed out heavily. "Thank the Great Machine that's over. Only thing I want to do now is kick back and stop thinking."

"It wasn't that exhausting, _Kirzen_."

"Not physically, maybe. But my mind is frazzled."

"Why?"

Ikharos shrugged. "Just the Riders. Oromis just wanted to pick my mind. Which is all well and good, but I'm looking for answers too."

"Did you find them?"

"Yes. And they both incredibly disappoint me and tell me nothing. He got my hopes up - and let them fall back down. I was hoping for more of what I found in Celbedeil."

"What did you find?" Melkris asked inquisitively.

Ikharos's shoulders slumped. "The Riders regarded my kind as little more than curious folktales. They knew of us - of the Six - through the half-forgotten memories of long dead desire-drakes. But no mention of caches, outposts, fortresses. And not even a whisper as to where Albazad might be."

"North, isn't it?"

Ikharos sighed. "That's too vague. I need coordinates. Even landmarks would work. Not... not ' _north_ '!"

Melkris mulled it over. "Why is it important to find?"

"Because it's a pillar for Nezarec's power. Knock it out, he grows weaker. Hungrier. And it might help us discover others."

"You believe there are others?"

"Undoubtedly. He's had almost eighty thousand years to spread his influence all around Kepler by my count. That's more than long enough to set up other cults across the planet. Alagaësia's at the heart of this, but it's not the only place worth investigating. Maybe that's how he's got so many Shades..."

"We do not have enough warriors to fight a world," Melkris realized. "Not even enough to fight a nation."

"Too right," Ikharos solemnly agreed. "We need the rest of the Scars - which leads us to the matter of the other conflicts we found ourselves embroiled in."

"It has not truly started, yes?"

"True. But it's just a waiting game. We're all watching each other, trying to figure out who's gonna make the first move - us, Krinok, Nezarec, or whoever the hell leads the Cabal."

"Scars will not be enough. Even if the elves gift us magic."

"No. You're right. We need allies."

"Elves are not enough. Humans are not enough."

"Tad harsh, but yes, not enough. We'll, _I'll_ , have to go throttle Scipio until he gives me answers. And maybe a few more guns."

That Melkris could accept. "More guns is good."

Ikharos smiled tiredly. "You just want new toys to play with."

"Aha, you understand!"

"... Sure. Yeah, I mean..." The human trailed off. "... Anyways, where's Kiph?"

Melkris shrugged. "Kiphoris-Veskirisk was speaking with Violmedr-Mrelliks not long ago. Perhaps he speaks now with Islanzadí-kel?"

"Ever the politician. Probably for the best if we leave him to it."

They reached the Rílvenar hall and entered. No one was in sight - not Narí, Celdin, Javek, or Obleker. Only Kida remained, who had stood and was continuing to stand at the back of the hall by the stairs since that morning.

Ikharos grabbed a chair, sat down, and let loose an explosive sigh. "Better," he mumbled.

"Do you seek sleep?" Melkris kept standing. He wanted to do something. Silence never appealed to him.

The Light-Chosen human shook his head. "Not that type of tired. I just... need an out. Need to stop thinking about all of this."

"Hopefully not for too long," Melkris weakly joked.

Ikharos said nothing. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I'm going to meditate. I would appreciate it if I could be left in peace."

Melkris understood and chirped to convey it. Skriviks-Archon, Drotos-Archpriest, and Inelziks-Captain had often exercised the same between battles or rituals dedicated to the Great Machine. "Will not disturb, on mine-honour."

**000**

"Slug rifle: fifteen clips. That's two-hundred-and-seventy rounds."

Zhonoch grunted. He wiped a dirty rag over the downed Legionary's corrupted shoulder wound. It was the best he could do. "Go on."

Neirim listed off the rest. "Projection rifle: forty-eight explosive rounds. Headhunter: twenty-two clips, which equals sixty-six high-calibre microrockets. Bronto cannon: seventy-three Void charges. Arc shotgun: fifty-three full battery cells."

"So shotgun's our best bet? Not fast enough for Thrall."

"Plenty for a Knight."

"Not the ones outside."

They both knew what he meant. The Darkblade and his elite regiment of butchers.

"Can you get up?" Zhonoch asked of the injured soldier. The Legionary shifted and gritted her teeth.

"I... no sir," the young Uluru gasped breathlessly. "Their damn... touch... has me..."

"We'll get you a-"

"Leave me... a gren... grenade..."

Zhonoch met Neirim's cold, one-eyed gaze. He wordlessly asked: _can we afford it?_

The Psion assassin reluctantly nodded. Zhonoch picked up a projection rifle round and pressed it into the wounded soldier's grasp.

"For the empire!" The Legionary hissed. One of her eyes had already glazed over. The other burned with a fury only death could extinguish.

Zhonoch stood up. "For the empire," he whispered.

* * *

They moved on. The Legionary wasn't left alone - three others marred fatally by Hive blades remained with her. Waiting to die.

"And for what?" Zhonoch wondered.

Neirim shot him a strange look, but Zhonoch didn't care. Neither did the others they had picked up along the way, all tiredly trudging along. Zhonoch looked around, counting the heads. There was barely enough to constitute a squad.

They found Neuroc by a broken radio transmitter in the corner of a grey corridor. She raised her head as they caught up. "Still nothing."

"Tlac must have led them away," Zhonoch mused. "Or Shu'av did. Or someone."

Neuroc motioned back to the radio. "Regardless, our communications are still cut off."

"How did it come to this?"

"Sir?"

"We're-" He realized what he was about to say and choked himself off, suddenly aware of those listening in. "Excuse me. Neuroc. Do you know how to disable the jammers?"

"Yes sir. They're using our own technology against us. I imagine the infected just activated the signal blockers in the bridge. It has a sphere of influence a hundred _chrens_ wide."

"Bridge is on the other side of the hanger from us," Neirim pointed out. "Which is currently crawling with Hive. We'll never make it to the bridge and out again."

"Why not just leave?" Someone asked. A thin Psion technician hefting a rifle half his size.

"Because they're outside too."

"How many are there?" Someone else asked. An old Uluru this time. His helmet had been shattered and a few of his teeth were knocked out. Blood had trickled from his mouth to dry and crack over his skin.

"A cult's worth," Neirim announced grimly. "And worse yet: they have a Broodqueen."

A collective groan rose up from the disorganized ranks.

Zhonoch allowed himself to wallow in despair and bodily leaned against the wall. He held a hand over his eyes. "By Acrius's gleam..."

**000**

Formora walked with her head down. She didn't dare meet anyone's eyes. A part of her felt she hadn't earned that right yet.

She blamed Oromis from that. It was bitter certainty she clutched to. He had seen her guilt and focused entirely on bringing it to the surface. She swallowed the bitter taste of anger. It wouldn't serve her well to let it be seen.

Nonetheless, the novelty of walking though her homeland without a mask was not lost on her. No blades, no poison, and no magic assailed her. She was left unharmed. Untouched.

Unfettered.

The sweet-ether taste of freedom pierced the wall of stagnating discontent. It gave her something to cling to, to keep her afloat. But it was a twisting hook marred by Glaedr's anger-fueled words. She almost tossed it on the wayside.

She returned to her family's hall faster than she anticipated. Much of the walk had been spent lost in thought. Time had blurred right by.

Formora gently pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was largely abandoned - her relatives and companions had jobs to do. Undertakings to see through. But not all.

Ikharos sat by the table, eyes closed and barely breathing. Melkris was perched in the chair opposite him, uncharacteristically quiet. The Eliksni sharpshooter chirped to her a greeting.

" _Vel_ ," she replied. Formora crossed her arms. "What... are you doing?"

"We are Awake-Calm-Sleep," he said in Eliksni.

She was almost certain that something was lost in translation. "What?"

"Meditating," Ikharos said suddenly. "Or, at least _I_ am."

" _Nama_. We." Melkris corrected. His outer eyes were closed and his mandibles were clicking against his jaw. It sounded like alien laughter - which, she reasoned, it was.

Ikharos opened his eyes. "Melkris."

" _Eia_ , _eia_ , I quiet."

"You said that before. And you weren't."

" _Ikha Riis_ , be quiet!"

"Oh, Traveler above..." Ikharos looked around at her. "How'd it go?"

She tried to respond, but nothing came to mind. Nothing good.

His expression darkened. "Thought so."

"Oromis is not entirely wrong," she said quickly. The last thing she wanted was to allow a feud to build up between the Risen and the Riders. There was only one way that could end.

Ikharos saw right through it. "That doesn't mean he's right. His viewpoint of all this is skewed. Biased."

"As is ours."

"He's lived in isolation for nearly a century, with no one but fellow isolationists for company. You and I have been out in the world. I think his bias is more radical than ours. We're the only ones to see things clearly."

She almost argued. Her bitterness on the matter was private; it shouldn't prevent her from defending those of her old order. In the end, she didn't - though whether because she was too tired or didn't believe her own arguments was unclear. "Can we discuss something else?" She asked.

"What's to discuss?" It didn't sound like a bristling argument. It was closer to a genuine question.

Formora hesitated. She didn't know why. Their conversations had always been open and honest, with none of the stifling limitations her own people upheld. Melkris could barely understand a word of the human tongue, so there was little risk of their words finding other ears.

Perhaps the fault lay in the fatigue that plagued them both. A fatigue given shape by continuous efforts to ready others for the changes approaching Alagaësia, and then finding that those they warned didn't give their words any credence.

"We could discuss something not of this world," she suggested. What went unsaid was: _something far removed from all our frustrations._

For a moment, he didn't do anything. He said nothing, just looked down and thought it over. Finally, he stood up and walked past her. Driven by curiosity more than anything else, she followed him out.

He wandered over to where Violmedr's garden bloomed and flourished in the spring air and golden sunlight. He hunkered down, held out a hand, and grasped... something.

"I'm not going to catch any rest," he muttered. "Not with Melkris there."

"Is this your alternative?" Formora crouched down beside him. With one hand, Ikharos was scooping out a small hole in the ground. His other was curled around whatever Xiān had transmatted into the real world, hiding it from her eyes.

Ikharos shrugged. "I've never been much of a gardener. When it comes to trivial hobbies, I prefer to read, study, write, or swim."

"But you're doing it now."

"I feel it'd be presumptuous to grab a book from Violmedr's collections, Oromis has given me all too little to study, writing in my focus-deprived state is frankly impossible, and I don't want to accidentally take a dip in someone's sacred ancestral ponds. Thus: this."

"Planting something unknown in my family's gardens."

"Exactly. I knew you'd understand."

"Of course." She rolled her eyes and smiled. This was the conversation she needed. Blunt, inconsequential, and easygoing. "What _are_ you planting, though?"

"Wait..." He pressed the plant - she hoped it was a plant - into the hole and rapidly covered it over. Formora only caught a glimpse of glittering purple before it disappeared beneath a clod of dirt.

"Shall I grow it?" She offered.

Ikharos shook his head. "Probably not wise. I don't know how your magic would react with it. It's not... normal for a plant."

"Few things ever are with you." She stood up. "How does it grow?"

"Gimme a second..." Ikharos splayed a hand over the dirt mount. A brief flash of flames burst from his palm, but they were calm. Tame. Not formed to destroy, but to encourage growth.

He stood up too, and quickly stepped back. "Come on."

Formora followed him to a fair distance away. "How long will this take?"

"Just watch."

She did.

Nothing happened at first. Nor did she expect anything to do so. She watched the small rise in dirt expectantly, but as time went on and no change occurred, she found her attention wandering elsewhere.

The air was pleasantly cool. The light was turning bright evening-orange, casting Rílvenar hall in a bronze hue. There only sounds to pierce the air were the cries of birds, clicking of insects, and the soft, measured breathing of the Risen beside her.

She was _home_.

A glitter caught her eye. Formora watched as a purple cloud of glittering dust rose up from the earth. It grew and grew until it was half as tall as she was. She wandered towards it for a closer look, which gave way to her second surprise. As she neared the cloud, it rapidly collapsed into a form resembling an ethereal sapling, still glittering and still a rich violet.

"Baryon bough," Ikharos announced. "Found only in the Dreaming City. The Awoken raise them to be used in the spells of their Techeuns. I've heard Ahamkara like them too. There's something... magic about them. But there's something magic about everything that comes from the Distributary."

"It's beautiful."

"It's the cream of the crop. Nothing else I have will beat that. Not unless you're really passionate about Spinmetal colonies or Dusklight shards."

Formora shook her head. "I don't know what either of those are."

"Spinmetal is a catenated-virtual-particle long-range spin-coupled nucleon metal. And Dusklights are rocks changed on a molecular level by the corrupted Light leaking from the Shard of the Traveler."

"I... still don't understand."

Ikharos shifted and smiled sheepishly. "It's... they're resources. My people harvest them on a regular basis. Risen are a materialistic bunch. Anything to help us... nevermind. You want to ask about this, right?" He gestured to the phantasmal tree.

Formora nodded. "That would be welcome. How and why does it change shape?"

"From what I understand, it doesn't."

"It does," she objected. "It was a cloud, and now it's a tree."

"It's both. Alright, it's... it's a tree with infinite branches. That's the cloud. An unending number of possible paths to take. When we come near it, it collapses into... well, _not_ an infinite number of branches. Baryons are heavy subatomic particles, and how they behave normally is different to how they behave when under observation. It's called the Observer Effect."

"Subatomic particles?"

"Tiny, tiny pieces of matter invisible to the naked eye."

It jogged a memory. One of her teachers had broached a similar subject, long ago. "We know of this, though it is a matter our greatest scholars have only made marginal progress in. All things are constructed of tiny parts, whether living or not."

"Mhm."

"Why is this tree different?"

"I'm not sure. Kalli - one of Queen Mara's surviving Techeuns - tried to explain it to me, but I wasn't getting it. The Awoken possess incredible technology - much of which is beyond my comprehension. All I know is that it's a species of _diffusuceae_ from the Distributary and that it can grow if exposed to potent raw energy. Like Light. Or any magic, really, but only if powerful enough."

"Even across the stars, magic is the end-all answer," Formora mused.

Ikharos nodded. "Magic is the method in paracausality - the cheat we use to bypass the normal routes of cause-and-effect. It allows us to maneuver energy as we wish, beyond the limits of causal beings." He hesitated. "I sometimes think that paracausality should never have made it into the hands of living creatures."

"Would you strip everyone of their magic if you had the opportunity?" She frowned.

Ikharos mulled it over. "I... don't know. I like being able to fight back. To hold my life in my own hands, as opposed to letting a god do whatever it wished. But the gods of this universe get to do that anyway, so... It doesn't matter. I'm already an eternity too late to change anything."

"So...?"

"Might as well enjoy it while we have it, I guess. So no. I wouldn't. And I would. I don't know. This is a tough question. I could point at the Hive or Nezarec, or even the Scorn and say ' _that's what magic leads to_.' But I could say the same about the Awoken and all they've built, and I'd have a completely different opinion. I suppose magic itself is blameless."

"It's just what we do with it that matters," Formora finished. "I know. Magic allowed Galbatorix to rise. But magic allowed my people to lose their mortal shackles and enjoy life to the fullest. There is no right answer."

"No," Ikharos agreed. "There isn't."

They fell into silence, watching the tree glitter before them. Formora couldn't take her eyes off it. It was a thing of otherworldly beauty. Something from another world, another people.

"This will be the envy of all elvenkind," she murmured.

Ikharos hummed. "Was this a mistake?"

"No." Formora touched his shoulder briefly. "Thank you for this."

"It wasn't... It's just a damn plant."

"Even so, it means much that you would share this with me."

He held out an arm. "Can't not share this. I planted it in the middle of your city, after all."

"Stop. I am grateful. Nothing you say will change that." She found his hand. "You have shown me a wonder from your Dreaming City. Come. I would return the favour."

**000**

A field bearing flowers of every colour and every shade. A glade cast in eternal birdsong. A tree half as tall as the Wall. A grove filled with residual magic auras flitting in and out of his mind. She told him that they were called thought-spiders.

When night finally descended upon them, she at last led him to an ancient wall carved from rock. As the sunlight trickled away, pinpricks lit up across the boulder.

"The stars," he breathlessly observed. He walked closer and, reaching the rock, traced a finger across a vaguely familiar constellation. Old friends. New strangers.

He mapped out the sky, using them to find Sol. His finger rested just above the bright, mournful star.

Homesickness reared its ugly head. His hand fell away to dangle by his side.

Something, someone, took hold of it. Cool fingertips, slender fingers, warm palm. Soft grip. Supportive. Comforting. Pleasant.

He suspected he was falling in love all over again.

* * *

There was no grand dinner waiting for them. Food, yes, but no lavish elven banquet.

Ikharos didn't mind. He preferred the quick bite to eat - a slice of buttered bread and something approaching a salad - so he could retreat to his room and dissect his thoughts in peace.

Xiān left him be, and for once Ikharos was glad for it. He didn't want anyone else's input. Not until he figured out his own.

His mind was a flurry with war. Fear battled with something else. Appreciation? No. Whatever it was, it felt stronger. Lust? He didn't give that any more attention than it deserved. Adoration? Perhaps.

But recognizing one's own feelings with cold analytics was as difficult as drawing blood from a stone - which was decidedly too Hive-esque for him to humour. He gave up in favour of chasing the peace of the nullscape. It didn't work; the abyss lanced up and down within his discordant mind. His hands caught aflame with hungry purpose and his eyes lit up with purple nothingness.

When the smell of Voidburn grew too strong, he let go of his faltering control over the dark jaws between spaces and settled in for a good night's sleep.

He dreamt of a sharp-looking old lady with a clever little smile.

* * *

Someone shook him. Ikharos awoke and had his knife against the stranger's throat in less than a second.

Melkris blinked with all four eyes. " _Kirzen_ ," he chittered nervously.

Ikharos dropped the weapon. "By the Traveler, Melkris! It's still-"

"News of Cabal!" The sharpshooter interjected. "Must go! Kiphoris is gathering others. Must go!"

"Cabal?" Ikharos tossed aside his bed covers and slipped into his combat robes. "'Course they pick now to... Xiān?"

"Here." She flew up before him. "Explosive or precision?"

"Precision," he replied, just as hastily.

She dropped him his bow. He attached the quiver to his back and folded up his bow to go with it. He hefted his sword and leaned it on his shoulder. His Lumina, as ever, rested at his hip.

"Lead on," he told Melkris. The sharpshooter scampered out of the room like a Thrall horde was on his tail. Ikharos cursed and ran after him.

They thundered down the stairs and bolted through the dining room. Kida watched them pass with his single blinking light for an optic, and then they were out in the midnight forest. All the extra room gave Melkris the boost he needed. And he was _fast_. Ikharos found himself hard-pressed to catch up.

"What about the others?" He demanded.

"Must be there," Melkris shot over his shoulder.

"Where?"

And then they were upon it. The hall of House Tarmunora, where they had been first received upon arrival by Islanzadí and the elven nobility. Werelights flickered from within. Melkris slipped in through the slightly-ajar doors. Ikharos followed him inside.

Islanzadí and Arya were there. As were Violmedr and some of the other heads of the noble families. As were Eragon and Saphira. Orik stood in the corner, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Javek stood by the end of the table with Kiphoris, Obleker and Formora.

"Everyone's here," Ikharos noted aloud. His eyes found those of the Scar Captain. "Legion's on the move?"

Kiphoris grimly half-closed his inner eyes and nodded. "Come, _Ikha Riis_."

Islanzadí cleared her throat. Her hair and clothes were as immaculate as ever - not that he expected anything else for an elf. Even so, she looked far from pleased. "Is there a reason for this, _Kiphoris-vodhr_?" She asked in a sharply expectant tone.

Kiphoris didn't rise to the bait. The poor guy looked like he'd accidentally kicked a puppy. "We are all in danger," he quietly announced.

Ikharos walked around and stood beside Formora. She appeared just as resolute as he was: ready to take on all the alien warlords had to offer.

His heart thrummed excitedly.

He turned his attention back to Kiphoris. "Cabal are strong, but their tactics are lacking in originality," Ikharos mused. "We should be able to kick them back into retreat if we play our cards right."

" _Nama_ ," Kiphoris asserted. "It is not them I fear. It is... I don't... Obleker?"

The Servitor warbled and projected forth an image onto the table with its glowing eye. Ikharos ignored the surprised gasps of the gathered elves and zeroed in on the hologram, which depicted the Cabal encampment. The survivors of the crash had taken shelter in the shade of the downed carrier, but they were far from helpless. War machines were scattered around the camp, and it was ringed in barricades of broken salvage.

"Twenty Kepler hours ago," Kiphoris began, "the Cabal began jamming communications within a dome more than two-hundred _rikha_ wide. Mine-people's scouts were caught within. They could not report what they saw until now."

The image morphed. Light flashed across the faint purple landscape. "A firefight," Ikharos realized. He frowned. "A mutiny?"

"Yes."

"That works in our favour, so-"

"Watch."

The firefight continued for another minute at triple speed. The feed slowed down just as the belly of the carrier began to bulge. Moments later, it burst altogether, and a swarm of tiny shapes spilled out like maggots from a rotting carcass.

Ikharos squinted. One of the tiny figures caught his eye, and...

His blood went ice cold. "Is that...?" He asked.

Kiphoris nodded gravely.

"It's... It's..." Ikharos stumbled back. He didn't care for all the eyes watching him. "You've got to be joking. Please."

Formora suddenly tensed up. She stared at the image. "I know them," she gasped. "I know them. I saw them in a... in a dream. But it was just a dream, it can't be..." She locked eyes with him - terrified and disbelieving. "Is it?"

"It never ends," he muttered shakily. "It never fucking ends." In a sudden fit of anger, he kicked a nearby stool. It shattered into a thousand pieces. " _FUCK_!"


	50. Calm before the Storm

_He was Kirrnaka, second eldest of his clutch. And he dreamed of darkness and axes. He forced those dreams onto reality. Onto those rivals who thought they could trespass onto his territory, where his siblings whispered and schemed and ached for sustenance. His crypt was to the west side of their vacuum-lost island, for northward was where his parents stood. Always northward, for in north lay power. He didn't know what lay north of his parents. He had heard tales of a great king, tales that his parasite loved to hear and shiver to, but they were just that. Tales. Beyond the spectrum of belief._

_He preferred the dreams._

_His father, Urgrök son of Margok, stood at the horizon with his age-weathered hands resting on the pommel of his cleaver. Beside him floated his consort/confidant/rival Ir Burchas. They stood at the northernmost point of their jagged abyss-doomed island. They watched both north and south, and to the star they orbited._

_Everything was a commodity to the small and the hungry. Kirrnaka knew it. His sisters knew it. His brothers knew it. Food, a place to slumber in peace, the rare pocket of sweet-tasting air - they hoarded it where they could. It was a fight of clutch against clutch, and their parents proudly looked on._

_He hated them. He hated his weakness, he hated the slithering, spiny creature in his stomach that only ever demanded MORE MORE MORE, that commanded his every living moment, but he hated his scornful father and disinterested mother above all else. All they did was look beyond the floating jetsam of what had once been a grand war moon and lust after alien worlds. They didn't care about the slaughter conducted between their children. As long as they received their tithe, they were content to ignore every shrill scream._

_They approved only of those strong enough to take from others._

_A brother - different clutch, not to be trusted - tried to kill him that rotation, but a mere snarl sent the craven scurrying back where he came from. Kirrnaka retreated to his crag and found his true brothers and sisters huddled together for warmth. There was precious little of that too. The star their island twisted around was tiny and distant. True warmth was a foreign concept._

_Eirim, little Eirim, bright-minded Eirim, shivered most violently of all. "I wish I could go north," she said wistfully as she gnawed on her arm. "It is warmer."_

_Argok, oldest of the clutch and broad of crest, shadowed over the others. Her jaws clacked uncontrollably. "Northward is power. Everywhere else is death. We must go north."_

_But no one moved. Their territory - their crypt - was hardwon over blood, dust, and chitin. They couldn't leave it. It was a prize they suffered to scrape out and fortify. It was their castle. Kirrnaka was the walls who held the border and Argok was the hearth who kept the others together. This was their coalition. And it was neither stronger or weaker than that of any other clutch. To be strong was to be the only one left. To be weak was to be dead._

_Cheirrlok battered at something with a closed fist. The sound of it echoed all around the island. It always did. He was making a weapon - as he had done since he first hatched. He loved building. And he built strong. This time it was a knife formed from the talon of a dead sister. Not a clutch-sister, just a blood-sister. She had been a crazed thing, clawing at all around her. Kirrnaka had cracked her skull against the very crag he rested against and tasted of the dust that remained. Her own clutch-siblings had died not long after._

_Weakness was death._

_"Build it sharp," Kirrnaka instructed his brother. Cheirrlok murmured his assent._

_Claws gripped Kirrnaka's arm. Instinct and Worm roared at him to shake them off. Reason gave him pause - after all, it was only Maalcoth._

_"We need to eat," his other brother hissed. "Catch a clutch in their sleep, rip the meat from their limbs..._

_Kirrnaka hissed back, "It would make noise. Others would see our backs turned and ready their own claws."_

_Maalcoth fell back upon the pockmarked stone and gasped painfully. "We need to eat!"_

_"We do," Argok solemnly agreed._

_Kirrnaka gritted his fangs and turned his head about. He was sightless, as all Unproven were, but the instinct was too strong to ignore. The scents of other clutches assailed his senses. None were yet weak enough to prey upon._

_A new scent hit him. Old death and fresh torment. The warmth from the distant star disappeared, as if something had raised up between him and it._

_Father._

_Kirrnaka was effortlessly pushed aside. He didn't resist. It would be foolish to do so. All he could do was-_

_He heard a growl and a cry. Maalcoth. In that moment his starved heart went cold. Maalcoth, his brother, who was supposed to be a Knight like he. Maalcoth, in whom he shared his dreams of darkness and axes. Maalcoth, whom he wanted to test his fantasized blood-forged blade against to appease the logic that caged them._

_Maalcoth, whom father had chosen. To be chosen was to die - eaten or burnt up, it did not matter. The result was the same._

_It would leave their coalition weak. It would leave Kirrnaka without a brother to stand at his shoulder._

_Father, Urgrök, was already gone. Maalcath, the hunger-thin Thrall, dangled from his fist and cried out again and again. The other clutches edged closer, hearing it and delighting in the feast to come._

_"No," Kirrnaka suddenly hissed. Fear and rage bubbled up from within. He started to run. His siblings, fearing abandonment and slaughter, picked themselves up and scrabbled after him._

_There was naught to do but one thing: break order and dare strike north._

_Argok was beside him, as quick and determined as he. Cheirrlok was on his other side, and the littlest brother slipped into the oldest one's hand a stone-sharpened knife. Cheirrlok's pace slowed with Worm-pain for his breaking of the logic, but he summoned the effort to keep going._

_His bravery was an inspiration. Kirrnaka adored him. Adored them all._

_Eirim, little Eirim, straggled by their heels. She was grasped tight by fear - and rightly so, for the other clutches were rousing themselves for the hunt. Already two groups were fighting over the crypt that had been so recently abandoned._

_They did not need eyes to know where north was. Maalcoth's screams grew ever louder, almost overpowering their mother's incantations. Kirrnaka did not understand the words, but Argok did, and she hissed out, "She means to make of him an Ogre!"_

_"Hold it still!" Ir Burchas snarled suddenly. Her voice shattered what remained of the star's warmth._

_Maalcoth's cries increased in volume._

_Kirrnaka closed his skeletal jaws and, when the scent of Urgrök was strongest, he leapt onto his father's back. The Knight jerked up in surprise and tried to reach over his shoulder, but a stinging pain raced up from his ankle. He kicked away the small Thrall, sending it sprawling._

_"Eirim!" Cheirrlok cried out. The little builder snarled and threw himself at the same leg, aiming for the tendons, but their father's leg was clad in thick shell. He would have shared the same fate if not for Kirrnaka's timely stab._

_The knife slipped between the shoulder plate and helmet, right into Urgrök's neck. Kirrnaka's Worm trilled with victory. He ignored it and dug deeper, ripping the sister-talon through throat and dust-vessels. The great Knight gurgled and rasped and fell to his knees._

_Ir Burchas watched with revolted horror. "Heresy!" She cried out._

_She dropped her incantation and swooped in to assist her husband - if a bloated form hadn't latched onto her. She shrieked with incandescent rage and attempted to shake the monstrosity off, but the distorted Thrall clawed and bit with curse-gifted strength. Maalcoth's newfound power forced her down - where Argok was waiting. The eldest sister lunged up and clamped down with bone-dry jaws. Ir Burchas tried to scream, but her daughter's fangs were in her windpipe._

_Both Knight and Wizard stood for a time, and both struggled fiercely to keep their eyes alight, but death's grip was tight and refused to let them go. Both fell in time. Ir Burchas lasted only so much longer, and attempted to claw away Argok, but it was in vain. Blood loss weakened her. And sustenance strengthened the hungry Argok._

_Silence fell over the war moon jetsam, broken only by nervous chattering of the other clutches. One of the broods, braver than most, sent a warrior-to-be forward in hopes of finding an understanding._

_Eirim jumped up and jammed her claws into his head. "I am a secret born of a thousand sharpened thoughts!" She whooped. She eagerly drank away at the ichor running down her fingers._

_Kirrnaka rose up from his fallen sire's body, opened his eyes, and looked past his father's corpse. He caught sight of Cheirrlok, who blinked right back. His new eyes then found Argok, her jaws filled with gore, and Maalcoth, who tilted with uneven mass._

_When he saw Eirim feasting upon a rival, his heart soared. She was thin and shaking, but alive and full of rabid glee._

_His clutch-siblings were alive. Their coalition was strong._

_And all the other clutches were weak._

_He grinned and bared his growing fangs to the vacuum of open space. A smile his prey would never see._

* * *

Kirrnaka-Hul shook the memories from his mind. The past was a grasping, selfish thing that only ever tried to steal his attention from its rival - the present. But the present was far more alluring, for in it was the moment his axe could bite away at those who failed to uphold the Logic-of-Logics.

A Colossus, alone and furious, spat bullets at his children. It was cornered and all the more desperate because of that, and it roared as hungry spawn closed in. It caught a Thrall in its meaty fist and crushed its head with a squelching pop. A Knight - lesser than his lovely Blades - rushed the Uluru warrior and laid open its belly. A backhanded strike cracked the Knight's jaw. The follow-up blast from the cannon finished the warrior-morph off.

The Uluru, now a bleeding, bellowing thing of death-doomed madness, lost its footing and dragged its way further into the corner of the salvage wall, as if to hide away.

Kirrnaka-Hul never let it escape his sight. The scent of blood was tantalizingly strong. He edged forward, hunkered down, and delighted in the dying beast's cries. Its eyes found him and despaired.

His Worm shivered. It could taste the coming death. His glee turned to filthy ash in his mouth. He stood up, strode over, and grabbed the Cabal's armoured shoulder. It shot at him, but his shell was thick and his mortality questionable. Kirrnaka-Hul tossed the Uluru out of the corner with little effort. It scarcely managed a groan as it tumbled to a stop.

He stomped over, planted a foot onto its bloodied chest, and wrenched its arm from its socket. The Colossus managed one last agonized roar before it fell silent.

Just for good measure, Kirrnaka-Hul cleaved its head in two.

**000**

"Mess hall is ahead," Neirim hollowly announced.

Zhonoch shivered. The Psion's voice shattered the silence so suddenly that he was, for a moment, worried that a stray Thrall might pick up on it.

Nothing charged down the long, dark corridors to assail them. Nothing cried out. His rifle's motion tracker couldn't pick out any other living thing - besides the other survivors trudging after him. They were safe. For the time being.

Neirim opened the door ahead of them and stopped in place. Zhonoch - his heart racing - joined him.

The mess hall bore all the hallmarks of a slaughter. Bodies laid strewn about all across the floor. Some of them were in pieces. Viscera covered the tables and counters. Nothing moved. Nothing lived.

The only consolation was the lack of Hive.

"Acrius's gleam..." His hand curled into a shaking fist. His rage bubbled up. It took all he had to shove it aside and concentrate on keeping a practical mindset. "... We... We need more ammunition." Zhonoch swiveled around. "And weapons. Gather all you can. Move it!"

The tired, loosely arranged regiment of Uluru and Psions rushed past. Many stalled at the sight that greeted them, but their comrades shoved them back into action. Death was no stranger. Not to Cabal.

But defeat?

"This will mean our end," Zhonoch murmured.

Neuroc and Neirim stared at him, one thoughtful and the other accusatory.

"Our forces are not entirely depleted," the former pointed out.

Zhonoch snorted. "Maybe I'm just a defeatist." He shook his head in hopes of banishing the traitorous thoughts. "Where next?"

"Armory's too close to the holding bays." Neirim idly lifted his new headhunter's sight to his eye. "But if we hit that, we could pave our way out with fire."

"Fires die out. We'll have cleavers in our back if we try to run."

"We _must_ run. There's too many Hive, and too few of us."

"True. So we must fly." Zhonoch nodded to himself. "Burn our way to the bridge. Call in Tlac for a thunder-run."

"Suicide!" Neirim hissed.

"If it's to death we march, we'll make it a fighting end. Honour to the Primus-of-All-Legions and the Princess-Imperial." Zhonoch held up his trembling fist. "For the empire."

"For the empire," Neuroc echoed.

Neirim silently glared at him. "For the empire," he spat.

**000**

"The Hive are here."

Ikharos couldn't believe the words he uttered. So he said it again. "The Hive are here. On Kepler."

" _Eia_ ," Kiphoris confirmed. He looked tired and terrified and determined all at once.

"Psekisk." Ikharos turned back to the hologram. "This is bad. This is..." His eyes widened. "We can't leave. We can't call for help. We're stuck here. With them."

Again: " _Eia_."

Ikharos fell silent. His mind was a whirlpool; as soon as he reached one conclusion, another thought crashed into it. None of his hastily-crafted fledgling plans lasted more than a couple of seconds. "Where did they come from?"

Kiphoris gestured to the hologram. "From the Cabal vessel. Perhaps as castaways? Or as prisoners? I do not know. They are here. That is what is important."

"Traveler above, they're here..." A second realization dawned on him, so startling and terrible that he almost choked on his shock. "If this is the work of the sisters, then everything's already lost."

His mind filled with images of the curse-ridden Dreaming City, but he knew that would be a best-case scenario. The Hive could turn Kepler into a living nightmare to put Luna to shame.

Kiphoris closed all four of his eyes. " _Eia_. We cannot fight War-Maker or Scheme-Mother. Not even all the Houses of glorious Riis could withstand their onslaught."

"Dammit!" Ikharos hissed. His fingernails dug into the meat of his palms.

"What do we do?" Fomora cut in. The other elves were muttering amongst themselves and avidly watched the holographic battle unfold.

Ikharos drew himself up and filled his lungs with a huge gulp of crisp air in hopes that it would cool the festering fear in his heart. It didn't.

The Cabal were taken by surprise. Some of them - likely the mutineers - didn't even turn to face the oncoming Hive. They just kept firing away at their former comrades with a single minded drive.

"It's a brood," Ikharos observed, "and they've gathered a cult." Something other than terror brewed deep within. Rage, petty at the core. They were encroaching on his world. _His_ world. The nerve! "There has to be a Witch at the centre of this."

"There is," Kiphoris confirmed. He whispered something to Obleker. The hologram sped up and froze, just as a crested shadow flitted above the carnage. There was no sound, but Ikharos could practically hear the eldritch scream emanating from the Witch's fanged maw.

"Broodqueen."

" _Eia_."

"Shit."

"... _Eia_." Kiphoris breathed in and out. "Have you slain one before?"

"Two. The first I hunted beneath Luna's crust, and the second I found on the Shore. Both were a huge pain in the ass. Particularly strong for Wizard-morphs."

"And they can birth entire armies."

"Yeah, that too."

"She needs to die. Or we will drown in Thrall."

"You read my mind," Ikharos muttered. He scanned the Broodqueen over and tactically broke down what he picked up. "Her chitin's intact. Strong. Clean. Almost entirely unmarked. Unscarred. This isn't a depleted brood of Sol."

"Unscarred? _Nama_. This cannot be allowed. I will show them Scars."

Ikharos almost smiled. Kiphoris's growled bravado was inspiring. "These Hive have been eating well."

"Must have fed on Cabal worlds.

"Very likely. Cabal are strong, but they don't fare well against Hive magic. As this," he motioned to the still image, "so conveniently proves."

"I still haven't heard of a plan," Formora muttered, so quietly that Ikharos suspected he was the only one to hear. But he wasn't done scouring the hologram.

"And _that_ ," he pointed to another Hive figure, "is a Darkblade. He's got a lot of Knights around him. Again, they look too fresh to have come from Sol. And..." He squinted at the glyphs covering their shells. "Their regalia is unfamiliar. I don't recognize the markings. Kiph?"

" _Nama_ ," the Captain responded. "I do not know it either."

"Unfortunate. I would have liked to know their function." To Formora, he elaborated: "Each brood has some sort of 'purpose.' Mostly, it's to follow their spawner or sire - mother or father - or a particular Ascendant. However, some groups have more specialized purposes."

"What of these?" She asked. Her presence had a calming effect on him. It kept the panic at bay and the anger simmering below the surface.

"At a guess? They're just followers to the Darkblade and the Broodqueen. Obedient spawn. But those Knights worry me... Look at them. They're big. And well-organized. They're moving in ranks. Covering each other. Actually fighting alongside one another, as opposed to rushing ahead to secure a kill. They've been well-trained. Their leaders must be smart bastards. Which... complicates things."

"Ikharos." Formora leaned closer. "Do you have a plan?"

He met Kiphoris's four-eyed gaze. "... Broodqueen needs to go."

"We don't have enough warriors for open battle," Kiphoris pointed out. He didn't sound adverse to the idea of fighting, though.

"Battle with Hive is suicide. But if we exploit their weaknesses, they'll fall under their own weight. Hive broods value strength. Nothing else matters. Not to them. If we take out their leaders, who's to replace them? They'll tear themselves apart just for the glory of being the strongest around. It's a tactic we used during the Taken War to disable what remained of Oryx's army."

"The queen. How do we remove her?"

"Slip into their new nest. Hit her with all we have, then get the hell out."

"Just like that?" Formora asked dubiously.

Kiphoris grunted. " _Nama_. Hive will have tracking spores and scent trails set around their spawning grounds. Even Marauders will not make it inside."

Ikharos almost countered him. Almost offered an alternative. But a new fear rose up, and it had nothing to do with Hive.

" _What's there to lose?_ " The other half of his soul asked. Her Light thrummed in tandem with his heartbeat. It was a unique comfort, and one he cherished in that moment.

" _Kepler_ ," he instantly responded.

Xiān snorted. Derisively so. " _Just let them have it. It'll give us an advantage. And they'll be in your debt._ "

" _What if they don't honour that debt?_ "

" _We'll deal with them._ "

" _But we won't be able to find them._ "

" _Eliksni or Hive. That's your choice. There's only one right answer._ "

He gritted his teeth. " _Fine. But I don't like this._ "

" _Better to not like something than to be dead._ "

" _When'd you get so poetic?_ "

" _Learned it from you._ "

He exhaled. "Fine," he said again, but this time aloud. Kiphoris sent him a questioning look. "I... have something that'll get us inside. But only if it's an _us_."

"You have a way to deceive the Hive?" Kiphoris asked incredulously.

"Yeah."

"Then... _Eia_ , gift this to us, and I would dedicate myself to seeing their leadership crumble."

"Promise. On your honour."

Kiphoris paused. "So be it. Great Machine willing, I would fight the Hive."

"No. I want you to promise not to use this against humans."

" _Ikha Riis_?"

"Promise, Kiph. I mean it."

"... _Ne ra hus ne hruua_ ," he said in Eliksni, which translated as " _I/me without fight you humans_ ", which in turn meant " _I will not harm your humans._ "

"Thank you." Ikharos bowed his head gratefully. "I… I have the Promethean Code." When Kiphoris showed no signs of understanding, he continued. "Stealth tech designed by Rasputin himself. I used it to sneak into the Hellmouth to steal what remained of Crota's soul. Even the Hive can't pick up on it. Not unless you get right up in their faces."

"You will provide mine-people with this?"

"I'll need a similar oath from everyone to get it, but yeah."

Kiphoris hummed thoughtfully. "Tarrhis-Baron will not like to fight the Hive. But I think his appreciation of this technology will outgrow his fear. This will be a fine weapon to bear against Krinok..."

"Add that with magic, and you'll be nigh on unstoppable," Ikharos muttered.

Kiphoris laughed softly. "Ally-gifted strength is the worthiest of prizes. This boon you promise is immense, Kirzen. And I appreciate it." His outer eyes closed. "Tonight, you and I shall slay a demon."

"Looking forward to it," Ikharos replied. And he was. He very much was.

* * *

Kiphoris left without another word. There was no time to waste. Not with the Hive on their shores. He took Obleker and Javek with him - which left just Melkris and Formora to back Ikharos up. And, when confronted with a host of accusatory elves, the former wasn't much help. Neither was the latter, when she kept her silence.

"How _dare_ you!" Islanzadí cried out. She sounded insulted. Looked it too. "You would wage war from our nation?"

Ikharos had no witty comeback, no convincing lie, so he simply said, "Yeah." Then: "But it won't be a war. After we assassinate their Broodqueen, they'll start fighting themse-"

"Assassination?!" If anything, she sounded even angrier. Many of the other elves were similarly irate. Those who weren't probably just hid their fury better. He clearly wasn't making any friends.

"They're Hive," Ikharos explained fitfully. "Murder-obsessed scum. It's no better than they deserve. Actually, it _is_ better than they deserve."

"And you _continue_ to slight us!" She snapped. "You demand and demand, but explain nothing!"

"I've explained plenty. You need to evacuate the west of Du Weldenvarden. It's not out of the question that the Hive could strike out east. Or south, for that matter. The human cities should be warned."

"Warn the empire?" Someone asked, utterly aghast.

It ticked him off. More than anything else, the sheer selfishness on display was too much for him to handle. "People are going to die if we don't act! Don't you care at all? Or are you going to abandon them as you did the Varden and the dwarves - your supposed allies?!" Ikharos cut off Islanzadí's retort with a glare so vicious that it would have made Oryx proud. "I'm going. Now. To deal with a threat on your behalf. On everyone's behalf. And if people are left to die, it's you-" he pointed at her "-that I'll look to blame.

Queen Islanzadí bristled, and made to argue back, but he was already gone.

**000**

Ikharos had left so quickly that Eragon had to blink to clear the Risen's outline from his eyes. He was left confused, uncertain, but more than anything else he was afraid.

" _His feathers have been ruffled_ ," Saphira observed reservedly.

Eragon reached the same conclusion, but one question doggedly persisted: _Why?_

He idly listened as the elves spoke in low, dangerous voices of the Risen's boldness and presumptions.. Formora and Melkris had filed out after Ikharos, leaving one end of the long table empty.

"That man has too much pride," Orik muttered. "And a part of me worries that it's earned."

Arya sharply looked at the dwarf. No one else gave any indication of having heard. "Built upon exaggerated falsehoods."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps we're the ones mistaking him." Orik tugged at his beard. "His frustration was genuine." He exhaled heavily. "Oh, I ache to return to my bed. My mind is not what it should be."

"He killed Durza," Eragon reasoned. "And he slew the ambushers along the river." Arya turned to him with an unreadable expression. His heart jumped and his cheeks burned. But fear compelled him to continue. "Kiphoris is worried too. He is-"

" _A liar_ ," Saphira said. Her lip curled. " _Not to be trusted._ "

Arya blinked. "West of Ceunon," she murmured thoughtfully. "There these creatures lie. Or so he said."

Her words sparked in him a new thought. One that turned his blood to ice. He moved before he even thought to do so, and he didn't stop until he'd left the hall behind. Voices called out to him, but he couldn't hear them past the pounding in his ears.

Eragon looked about outside the doors. Ellesméra had fallen into a peaceful slumber, and few were about, but it was nonetheless difficult to pick out where the Risen had set off to.

Saphira pawed out of the hall behind him. She sniffed and tasted the air with her forked, barbed tongue. " _That way_ ," she said, pointing her head to a meandering forest trail that disappeared into the darkness of the woodland city.

Eragon wasted little time in rushing ahead. Saphira bounded behind him, calling out new directions every so often and saying little else.

Ikharos hadn't made it very far. Eragon found him and his compatriots less than half a league from Tarmunora hall. The Risen was in heated discussion with Formora when Eragon chanced upon them. They all turned to face him. Melkris waved.

"Ergon!" The Eliksni cheerfully greeted.

" _Nama_ ," Ikharos said. "Er- _a_ -gon."

"Errrr- _aaaa_ -gon."

"Close enough."

Melkris beamed.

Ikharos swiveled around. "You'll have to forgive him. He's an idiot." He looked past Eragon and said, more coldly, "Saphira."

" _Risen_ ," she greeted curtly.

Before anyone else could speak, Eragon exclaimed, "You said that these foes of yours lie to the west of Ceunon?"

Ikharos frowned. "I did. What of it?"

"Where, exactly?"

"Across the fjord. The Cabal camped within the Spine. That's where the Hive are right now."

It was as he feared. "Could they reach Carvahall?"

Understanding dawned on Ikharos - Eragon could tell by the way his eyes widened and he took in a quick breath. "They could," the Risen admitted. "It's too close. Hive could close that distance in no time. But-" He raised a hand. "-they'll be busy mopping up what remains of the Cabal. What we're about to do should keep them busy for a little longer. Still, I doubt they'll stay there forever..."

"Is there anything that can be done?" Eragon asked desperately. "I know the people of Carvahall and I don't want anything to befall them."

"... If the opportunity presents itself, I'll see what I can do. But... just don't bet on it. There's too much on my plate as it is. Convincing Islanzadí is probably your best bet."

Eragon didn't think that was a possibility. "How?"

Formora stepped forward. She was dressed for war, with her unusual armour donned and her sword sheathed at her hip. A helmet - the one she'd worn to slip into the identity of Zeshus - was held under one arm. She possessed all the grace of an elf, but it was edged with a ferocity unusual for her kind. Eragon could readily believe that she was a true warrior-elf. And a Rider, even if a former one.

"You lived under the empire's rule, correct?"

"I did," he answered. Saphira, behind him, stepped closer.

Formora nodded, apparently satisfied. "Remind Islanzadí of that. Maybe then she will prove more willing."

"But if-"

"If she doesn't," Ikharos cut off, "then she answers to me."

Formora rewarded the Risen with a displeased glance, but she spoke no more on the issue.

Bushes to the right rustled. Out of them stalked a dark creature garbed in a thick coat of soft feathers. Arke's four golden eyes looked over them all with hungry interest. "Cousin Saphira," she sang in her strange, flanged voice. A chill ran down Eragon's spine. She never failed to unsettle him.

But Saphira was ecstatic. " _Arke_ ," she trilled.

The not-dragon shivered her jaw. Her eyes settled on Ikharos. "Child of Light."

"You're not coming along," he said, crossing his arms.

Arke laughed. It was a beautiful sound. Dreamlike. Inhuman. "No! No, not this time. But I shall await the call, if ever it comes."

"Stay here."

"If that is your wish..."

"Damn dragons..." The Risen muttered. The scowl he offered Arke was half-hearted. There was no latent hate to back it up. "Spit it out."

Again, Arke laughed. Joyously. It echoed throughout the small glade. "An ever-sharpened blade you are."

"Not a bomb?"

"No. Blade."

"Worrying," Ikharos said. He didn't sound very worried. "That it? All you came here to say?"

"I have a profession." Arke's eyes glittered. "I have my own wish to make, o champion mine."

"And what would that be?" Ikharos asked testingly. His arms unfolded. One of his hands drifted close to the bone-white form of his not-crossbow.

"Good fortune, of course. I wish you well on your fated katabasis and echtra into the Otherworld."

"It's just the Spine. Nothing ' _Other_ ' about it."

"Not before. But now?"

"They're only Hive. Servants, not the masters."

"Grave-doomed puppets. And their end looms close. Perhaps death mantles you."

"Perhaps?"

"I wonder, are you Bran mac Febail, who sails to heavenly Aircteach? Or are you Herakles, tasked to wrestle the three-mawed hound at the furnace-fired gates of Hades?"

"What does it matter? I'm going, they're dying."

"No!" Arke exclaimed excitedly. "You are Orpheus. Searching for Eurydice evermore."

"And what's my Eurydice?"

"Do you wish to find out?"

Ikharos grumbled, "You're impossible," and walked away.

**000**

His shoulder ached and burned. Roran gritted his teeth as the pain redoubled, but it paled when placed before his sheer despair.

 _Katrina_.

Katrina was gone. They'd taken her.

A choked sob escaped past the iron lump in his throat. He was faced with a quandary that tore at his very essence: the only way to rescue Katrina would be to leave Palancar Valley, yet he could not abandon Carvahall to the soldiers. Nor could he forget Katrina.

 _My heart or my home_ , he thought bitterly. They were worthless without each other, and he couldn't abandon either.

Despair rolled over him as he wrestled with the problem. He imagined himself in one of the great cities of the Empire, searching aimlessly among dirty buildings and hordes of strangers for a hint, a glimpse, a taste of his love.

It was hopeless. She was gone.

A river of tears followed as he doubled over, groaning from the strength of his agony and fear. He rocked back and forth, blind to anything but the desolation of the world.

Katrina was gone.

An endless amount of time reduced Roran's sobs to weak gasps of protest. He wiped his eyes and forced himself to take a long, shuddering breath. He winced. His lungs felt like they were filled with shards of glass.

 _I have to think_ , he told himself.

He leaned against the wall and - through the sheer strength of his will - began to gradually subdue each of his unruly emotions, wrestling them into submission to the one thing that could save him from insanity: reason. His neck and shoulders trembled from the vigour of his efforts.

Once he regained control, Roran carefully arranged his thoughts, like a master craftsman organizing his tools into precise rows. _There must be a solution hidden amid my knowledge, if only I'm creative enough._

He had no way to track Katrina's captors: the twisted Ra'zac. That much was clear. Someone would have to tell him where to find them, and of all the people he could ask-

A low rumble passed through the floor under his feet. Roran frowned. His confusion gave way to a pit of worry. _The soldiers!_

He grabbed his hammer with his left hand and rushed down the hall. Baldor and Albriech were already there, armed and ready. They spared him grim, sympathetic looks.

"We need to-" Baldor began, but another rumble devoured his words. It was louder the second time. Roran hurried onwards and flew out the front door. His jostled shoulder almost brought him to his knees, but a dark rage kept him going.

They ran through Carvahall and arrived at the barricades, where a crowd had already congregated. Ivor saw them coming and wordlessly pointed towards the distant ridge from whence the soldiers always came. Lights flashed from behind it, as bright and fierce as storied dragonfire. More rumbles accompanied each spark. Soon, the distant echoed shouts of Imperials joined them.

Four men - one of them bleeding profusely from his arm - ripped out of the mists in a desperate, panicky run. Then _something_ galloped after them.

Roran watched, transfixed. The beast moved with all the determination and wild glee of a hunting dog, but it was many times larger than any hound he had ever seen. In terms of sheer size, he could only liken it to a bear. And yet it wasn't. The rough red scales adorning its hide in place of a thick pelt assured him of that.

It possessed no fur, no ears, and only a short, blunt snout with a mouth full of long, pointed teeth. It bore a pointed metal cap over its head and snout, and on the back of its necks and shoulders sprouted six fin-like steel blades.

It caught up with one of the soldiers and pounced on him, bringing him to the ground with its sheer weight. It tore out his throat not a moment later, cutting his terrified cries off. The beast raised its head and howled.

Other identical barks echoed out from the mists behind it. And worse yet - more of those earth-shaking rumbles.

Roran's fist tightened around his hammer. The gathered villagers trembled and ran for weapons. Those who were already armed assumed stony faces and kept watching.

One of the Imperials, seeing the welcome waiting for them, slid to a stop and turned around. He lifted his sword and... his head disappeared.

Roran blinked. Something had flashed right through the man's head and carried on past. The headless body crumpled to the ground.

A shadow separated from the mists and bounded forward with huge, impossible leaps. A whistle emanated from it, causing the scaled beast to halt its chase. It seemed to glare at Roran in particular as it restlessly paced to and fro.

The remaining soldiers reached the barricades. One tried to vault over. Roran crushed his fingers and then cracked the soldier's skull. The Imperial collapsed on the wooden board, motionless. His last remaining compatriot - utterly grasped by fear - drew his blade and looked between the villagers and the beast.

The leaping figure finally broke free of the fog's grasp and came into view. Roran gawked: it was no man. No Urgal either, and it certainly didn't match up with the stories of dwarves and elves. It had the basic shape of a human figure, but like the horrific Ra'zac, it was just too different. It was _inhuman_.

It was massive. Easily three heads taller than he, and its bulky body was bulging with muscle hidden beneath heavy layers of reinforced cloth and painted metal armour. Its rounded helmet completely obscured its face. It hefted a massive object with a pipe on one end, and it turned the open hole towards the soldier.

"ON YOUR KNEES, HUMAN!" It bellowed in loud, garbled Common. "DROP YOUR WEAPON AND RAISE YOUR HANDS!"

The Imperial shook. Then, in an act so bold and ill-advised Roran could scarcely believe he was witnessing it, the soldier charged. He raised his sword and brought it down with all his might.

It shattered on the monster's helmet. The inhuman thing snorted and backhanded the soldier with one massive, four-fingered fist. The Imperial tumbled across the dewy grass and didn't get up. Its featureless visage shifted, and Roran somehow knew it was looking at him.

"DROP! YOUR! _WEAPONS_!"

**000**

They left Ellesméra behind, found a small clearing, and sat down to plan their assassination out. Ikharos wanted some measure of privacy and to put some distance between himself and the elves.

This time, though, they weren't alone. Kiphoris ordered Obleker to key the other leaders of the Scar loyalists in - and with Tarrhis listening, the final say of what happened and what didn't happen was ultimately out of their control.

 _Worst comes to worst, I go in alone_ , Ikharos decided. He had Xiān splay out a hologram of the Ceunon region. Obleker floated off to one side, with the perfect viewpoint. Tarrhis, Palkra, Sundrass, and Drotos were watching.

"Four teams," Ikharos began in Low Eliksni. He traced a finger directly to the Cabal encampment. "Teams one and two are to infiltrate the carrier. Team one must kill the Broodqueen. Team two must deactivate the communication blockers, preferably before team one kills the Witch. This will allow us to coordinate further strikes in an effort to destabilize Hive control. Team three waits outside and - covertly, mind you - keeps the LZ clear of hostiles. Team four are the getaway drivers. Skiffs must remain cloaked and silent until teams one, two, and three require a pick-up. Questions?"

For a moment, no one said a word. Then someone speaking through Obleker cleared their throat. "Even with your technology," Tarrhis said slowly, "killing a Witch of that calibre is no mean feat. Many - mayhaps all - will die. Who qualifies to join the first crew?"

"That would be me and me," Ikharos replied neutrally. "I'm team one."

"Alone?"

"... Well, I have Xiān."

"Alone, then."

"Essential- Ow!" He swatted Xiān aside. She glowered at him in her own Ghosty way. "Essentially!"

"I feel this endeavour is ill-fated, _Kirzen_."

"I've faced worse odds, _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_." And he had. Just not alone. But he didn't give voice to that.

A rumbling growl rippled out of Obleker. "Continue, Oryx-Slayer," Tarrhis muttered. "What of this second crew? They will risk much. Who will lead them?"

"I," Kiphoris announced. His claws fidgeted and flexed with nervous apprehension. "I shall lead our skilled Marauders into the heart of the carrier and sabotage the Cabal defenses." He hesitated. "If you see fit to spare me for this, mine-Baron."

Tarrhis's growl came back. "This is presumptuous of you, _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_ ," he said warningly.

"I do not intend to cause offense."

"Offense has been caused regardless of your intentions. Mind your station."

Kiphoris twitched. "Mine-Baron, we must act. We must! With the technology _Ikha Riis_ offers, victory is within our grasp. The Long Drift is at an end. We can make a stand!"

"If we don't knock the Hive down now," Ikharos began, "we'll never shake them loose. It's this or wait for extinction to pass us over."

"I would sooner brave the satellites," Tarrhis snarled, "than incur the wrath of the demons."

"You won't get past Scipio. Not even with the Promethean Code. It never fooled Rasputin before. I doubt it'll get us past his brother." He shuffled. "And I won't abandon these people. Not to the Hive."

"You have the power to resist the Dark. We do not."

"Yeah, you do. With every gun and blade you bear. With the Promethean Code and the ancient language. That's power enough."

Someone else mumbled something. Palkra, and it sounded like, "Pikes are nice too..."

Sundrass laughed. Drotos groaned. Kiphoris closed his outer eyes and smiled. Ikharos felt immensely out of place -like he had intruded on a familial conversation.

"Hive magic is stronger," Tarrhis pointed out.

"So is Light."

"You are one. They are many."

"Many Thrall, maybe. Many Acolytes. Nowhere near so much Wizards and Knight. And fewer Ogres. That's... manageable."

"The risk is high," Kiphoris added, "but success is worth it. We are stronger now, mine-Baron. And we will continue to empower ourselves with technology and magic if we stay. _Ikha Riis_ gifts us this code to defeat the demons, but it will deliver unto us the end of all our foes."

"... So be it. So be it!" Tarrhis bellowed reluctantly. "We pledge ourselves to this... extermination. But when we are in need, _Ikha Riis_ , I expect you to heed our call. Mine-Scars have given you much. We expect just as much in return."

Indignation flared up. Ikharos coldly crushed it. "Of course, _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_."

To speak out against a Baron would insinuate that he was of equal or greater rank. And traditionalists like Tarrhis were too full of pride to let an insult of any kind fly by without mention. Kiphoris was already pressing way too close - Ikharos couldn't endanger their shared position any further.

"What of the other crews?" Tarrhis eventually asked.

"Team three should consist of snipers and shockshooters along with whatever Marauders remain. They shouldn't draw attention."

"Nyreks will command them," Kiphoris took over. "The fourth group will be led by Sundrass. She will Captain the watching Skiffs."

"Sundrass?" Tarrhis questioned.

The other Captain was quick to respond. "I am willing to shoulder this duty," she answered. "My Skiffs will fly quick and true."

"... Then we are decided," Tarrhis said lowly. "Sundrass, Kiphoris, _Ikha Riis_... do not fail me. You each know what defeat will bring." He paused. "Kirzen?"

"Yes?"

"Bring me the Witch's head."

* * *

The Eliksni filed away to collect their belongings and otherwise prepare. Javek and Obleker were to stay in Ellesméra, while Kiphoris and Melkris were to join Ikharos in attacking the Hive. He'd already decided that Kida was going to remain and provide some measure of security for the Riders and Arke. They couldn't let the dragons fall into the Enemy's hands - Ikharos shuddered to think of the implications.

But he didn't know what was to happen to the last member of their strange band. Formora leaned against a tree, crossed her arms, and said nothing.

He reckoned he knew what she was thinking. Of how he handled himself before Islanzadí and her royal retinue. Poorly.

"I've no patience for inept leadership," he said softly. Her gaze darted to him. Ikharos struggled to translate his thoughts into civil words. "She - _they_ \- failed the Varden. They think they're better. Wiser. I'm not going to appease their arrogance. I don't have the time. _Or_ patience."

"They aren't alone in their arrogance," she said softly.

"I know the Hive. Everything I've said has been nothing but the truth."

She shook her head. "That's not what I mean."

"Then what _do_ you mean?" He impatiently questioned.

"Why are you so adamant that you fight alone?"

Ikharos found himself caught off-guard. He had a whole argument prepped up to defend his actions in Tarmunora hall, and all of it went to waste. Just left on the wayside. It was almost disappointing. "Because... it's the Hive." He blindly grasped at the first words to come to his head. "They're too Dark. Tarrhis wasn't wrong. The strongest of Hive are beyond mortal scope. Their Wizards enact demented rituals just for fun. Their Knights slaughter with mindless abandon. Their Thrall - their children - can only ever think to hunger for the deaths of other creatures."

"We've faced monsters before - together."

"Corrupted Exos. Shades. Ahamkara."

"All powerful. All dangerous."

"And none of which come close to Hive. The Exos are causal. Shades are fragile. Ahamkara can be appeased and then constrained. But Hive are paracausal. They are far from fragile. And there is no end to their gluttony."

"All the more reason you shouldn't go alone."

"No, you don't-" He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. His temper was short, but he didn't want to get angry. "A Thrall can be killed with a bullet. A Broodqueen - or a Darkblade, or whatever other abominations those monsters have hiding in there - needs something more... deific. Their Dark will suffocate whoever stands against them - only Light, _my_ Light, stands a smidgen of a chance."

"If they are Dark, and you are Light, then they will stop at nothing to extinguish you."

Ikharos said nothing. She wasn't wrong.

"Nezarec remains an issue. If you die to the Hive, all your knowledge goes with you. Their magics will overcome ours."

He shrugged. "There's nothing to be done. This is a risk I _have_ to take. Hive are the worst."

"Worse than Nezarec?" Formora challenged. "Worse than all his twisted servants?"

Ikharos didn't hesitate to nod. "Yes. As terrible as Nezarec is, the sisters are infinitely more wicked. Compared to them, he's nothing short of a saint."

Formora went quiet. "These sisters are the Hive deities?" She asked after some time.

"Yeah. Queen of Lies and God of War."

She looked down. "Excellent. More gods."

"The Hive also follow the tenets set by the Worms," Ikharos added with a grimace. Catching her questioning look, he elaborated. "Think Ahamkara, but capable of growing as large as continents and utterly devoted to the teachings of Dark. They don't shapeshift, though. No need."

Formora's expression twisted into one of contempt. "The universe must be a cruel place to birth such horrors."

Ikharos didn't offer any argument. But he did say, "Which makes protecting places like this all the more important."

She looked up. Inquisitive danced across her features. "Ellesméra? Or Kepler at large?"

"Both," Ikharos answered. "I'm not letting either fall to the Dark."

"There won't be anything for it if you die."

Ikharos sucked in a deep breath. "No one can come with me or they'll die. And could spell my end. Hive feed from death. Grow stronger from it. Bringing along a corpse-to-be is only going to put me at a severe disadvantage."

"Is there nothing-"

"You should stay. Here. With your people."

Formora looked _scandalized_. "Murderers and monsters arrive on my world, at the shores of my nation, and you want me to stay?"

Ikharos shifted uncomfortably. "I guess that's not happening."

"No. I'm going with you."

"Alright." Ikharos sighed. "Suit yourself. But you are going to stick with Melkris."

She narrowed her eyes. "I can fend for myself."

"Exactly. That's why you're going with Melkris. Team three. Pick off any roamers who get too close to the LZ."

"That's..." Formora spared him a searching look. After a few tense seconds, she nodded. "I can do that. That will suffice."

"If you stayed, you could help ease things with Islanzadí..."

Her glare was back. The irked one she reserved just for him.

"... Thought not."

* * *

Kepler was underdeveloped. That had become increasingly clear to him. The lack of a global transmat system isolated the movement of people and goods to physical transportation. Just when they needed to move fast, did the failings of Alagaësia's lacking infrastructure truly become an issue.

Xiān reminded him to count their blessings. He had to admit, with some reluctance, that they were doing well all considered. Skiffs were notoriously quick, and only an hour or so after clearing the plan with Tarrhis did five of the Eliksni vessels close in on Ellesméra.

There was no time wasted on a quiet entrance. The booming arrival of the dropships abruptly woke every corner of Ellesméra, even as the Skiffs landed on the city's outskirts. Animals cried out with anger and terror, and elves milled in the treeline around the wide clearing with growing confusion.

Ikharos was thankful none saw fit to fire upon the Eliksni vessels. Arrows wouldn't do anything, and he doubted any of them could muster up a spell powerful enough to so much as scratch a Skiff, but the Eliksni wouldn't take it kindly. And irate Eliksni were the most dangerous kind.

Taniks and his death-transcenent murder spree was testament to that.

Out of the first Skiff to land strolled out the richly-dressed form of Drotos. The Archpriest's red robes were criss-crossed with lines of elegant Eliksni runes. Prayers to their Great Machine. He closed his outer eyes at the sight of Ikharos and crowed, "Light-Champion! Tide-Breaker! _Ikha Riis pak Kirzen_!"

"Drotos-Achris pak Helkren," Ikharos offered a flowing _miurlis_ salute. "Thank you for this."

"I need no thanks," the Archpriest rebuffed with good humour. "This is for our gain, not yours. It is my gratitude that should be offered."

"I... see." Ikharos blinked. "There is, uh, a favour I must ask."

"Ask it, Machine-Envoy."

"Walk carefully with these people. Gently. Their politics is a delicate thing, and I've bruised it more than enough. When I return, I'd like them to be… let's say _intact_."

Drotos inclined his head graciously. "On mine-honour, I shall. Your human-kin will earn no assault from me or mine-crew. We will be gracious and polite for you and our House."

"Thank you. Obleker and Javek are here to help. I've left them with language files."

Drotos held out four upturned palms as if to physically receive the boon. "I have nothing to offer in return but my faith. Go well, _Ikha Riis_. Slay many demons. For the Great Machine."

"I'll do my best," Ikharos muttered. He caught sight of a trio of approaching elves and hastily excused himself. He didn't want to be around for the diplomatic mess of dealing with the irate natives. Ikharos was happy to leave Drotos to it. " _Maybe he'll do better than I did_ _._ "

" _Given how little you tried, probably_ ," Xiān quipped.

" _That's harsh._ "

" _Not as harsh as you were with Islanzadí._ "

" _You think I'm in the wrong._ "

" _No, you're right, but you were a tad rude about it._ "

He grumbled. " _I'm not made for politics._ "

" _I'm well aware._ "

The other four Skiffs touched down behind that belonging to the Archpriest. Kiphoris, Melkris, and Formora were already standing by, all dressed for battle. Even Melkris managed to look formidable, with his pristine white and gold armour and red cloak. Formora had the Hunter cloak he'd given her and the Sentinel shield locked against her bracer to go with the body armour Scipio supplied. Her helmet - the Obsidian Mind - rested by her feet.

Kiphoris looked no different. He always garbed himself like an elegant Eliksni noble, and the way he stood in the centre of the clearing with his upper hands resting on Ka'Den's pommel was nothing short of picturesque.

Ikharos took up position next to them and slipped on his Ahamkara-feather bracers and drake-bone gauntlets. He watched, with detached interest, as the Skiffs deployed docking clamps and settled to a stop. There was something about the organic style of Eliksni architecture and engineering that appealed to him. The Skiffs looked both sleek and hefty all at once, and more than anything they boasted a fearsome presence.

"I thought about claiming one of these for myself," he said aloud, "in the years after Twilight Gap. But I reckoned it'd only get me shot down by City AA cannons and waste a perfectly good ship."

"Where would you have found a ship to take?" Kiphoris asked idly.

"Devils, probably. Traveler knows they've stolen plenty of mine."

"They robbed you?"

"Of course. I robbed them back. It was a mutual robbing."

Kiphoris snorted. "You fell victim to the Shipstealer?"

"Her? She took a jumpship of mine, once, but not much beyond that. Apparently, the bounty on my head wasn't high enough for her."

"It was a large bounty. I remember that."

"Indeed it was. Half a million Glimmer and three pristine Heavy Pikes. Best Riksis could offer, 'sfar as I remember."

"Taniks didn't try to claim it? Surely it was too enticing for him to pass over."

"Couple of times, he did. But I'm an old hand at these games. No one hunts me." Ikharos allowed a small pause to persist before he continued. "Besides, that was after Gap. He had all four hands full with Saint on his tail."

Kiphoris's expression shifted. Amusement morphed into something far less pleasant. "The Murderer?" He quietly asked.

Ikharos hesitated. He was saved when out from behind one of the Skiffs stalked Sundrass and her guards. Her eyes lit up, and she sped up to join them.

" _Vel_ , _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_!" She greeted happily. She barely offered Ikharos a glance, and he was left wishing she hadn't. Her gaze was cold and empty when it chanced upon him.

But he was perfectly fine with returning it.

Ikharos nudged Formora's arm. "Let's go."

She offered no complaint. They slipped past Sundrass's retinue and made for the Skiffs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!  
> Next chapter is going to be tad darker (as everything with Hive usually is). But I'm looking forward to writing it. Finally getting into the meat of things.


	51. Battle of Magnus Vae I

"Thrall are rabid. If they find you, they'll charge without a second thought. Nigh-on suicidal." Ikharos paused. "Actually, if you see a Thrall with a glowing head, then it _is_ suicidal. It'll explode upon death. Or if it thinks it's close enough to its target. Either way, shoot it at a distance."

"That's... horrible." Formora looked, if anything, seriously disturbed.

"Yep. If things go south, make sure none get close, glowing or not. Thrall claws are sharp enough to tear through bone. But they're clumsy too. Starvation does that. And very, very fragile. A bullet to the chest or head will put 'em down. Even a hefty punch could work. Easy to deal with, all considered."

"Thrall are not the only Hive," Formora stated. It wasn't a question. She'd seen the hologram of the battle. She saw the slaughter.

Ikharos nodded. "Acolytes are smarter. They make use of Shredders - cursed firearms. They're probably your biggest worry. More numerous than the older morphs, and deadlier than Thrall. Cross them, and you'll have a gunfight on your hands. They're human-sized, three-eyed like most older Hive, and clad in thin armour, but not any hardier. Go for the head if you can, stomach if you can't."

"Stomach?"

"It's where their Worms are. The parasites that give them their powers. Hurt the Worms, you hurt the Hive."

"I... see." She checked over her sword. "What else?"

Ikharos's voice fell. "Knights are like Acolytes, but bigger. Much bigger. And their armour is thick. If you see one holding a sword, keep your distance. Those blades are beyond dangerous. If not, if they're holding something else, then find cover but prepare to run. If they choose a gun at all, Knights like to use Boomers. Cannons capable of lobbing Dark explosives."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Then there's the Wizards. Listen. If... Traveler above, if you find yourself on the receiving end of a Wizard's ire, get the hell out. You'll know one when you see it, what with the floating and screaming and bloodied robes. They're Hive sorcerers, magicians, and mothers. Do _not_ let them catch you."

"What if they do?"

"Then fight for your life. Give no quarter. Their wards can regenerate within seconds after breaking. Kill them fast. And watch the hands. They can cast a whole lot of killer spells - poison clouds, Arc spikes, Solar bombs, Void caltrops, and a whole lot more."

Formora grimly nodded. She wore a hard, resigned expression. If she was regretting her choice to join their venture into the Dark, he didn't blame her.

The Skiff around them shook. Ikharos braced himself against a handhold built into the hull. Formora hung onto the edge of her seat and irritably glared at the floor.

"Turbulence," he muttered. His voice was almost swallowed up by the rumbling of the starship.

Formora nodded. "I know."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're getting used to this."

"I am..." She trailed off, distracted. Ikharos nudged her shoulder.

"Stick with Melkris. He's fought Hive before. Listen to him and you'll be fine."

Formora looked up with a strained half-smile. "Listen to Melkris? Is that wise?"

"Probably not, but here's hoping he'll behave." He lowered his voice. "You'll be fine."

"I know I will," she said quickly. Almost angrily. "That is not what I worry for."

Ikharos mentally berated himself. "Sorry. I thought-"

Claws tapped against his arm. He buried the urge to bristle and calmly turned around. Kiphoris blinked back and wordlessly indicated to the front of the Skiff. Ikharos nodded: he'd be there in a moment. The Captain returned it and retreated back to his gaggle of Marauders.

Ikharos squeezed Formora's shoulder. "Be careful."

Her hand fell on his. Her eyes found his and said more than any words could. "And you."

He lingered for a moment longer before lurching towards the space just before the hatch to the cockpit, shifting his balance with the turbulent movements of the Skiff. Seven Eliksni chittered and fidgeted with blades and guns.

Xiān hovered in their midst. Occasionally, a Marauder would hold up his or her stealth generator, and the humming Ghost would install the Promethean Code with a brief surge of Light.

One of them reached out to her, empty-handed, and Ikharos's own hand snapped out to clamp around the wrist of the offending arm. He squeezed - not enough to hurt, but enough to send a message - and let go. The Marauder trilled a panicked apology and shrunk back into his seat.

Kiphoris watched it all with a guarded expression. Where once he had been (to some extent) open and outgoing, now he assumed the cold and reserved attitude of a classic Eliksni reaver - which wasn't near as frightening as it should have been.

"When we strike down," Kiphoris began in Low Eliksni. His Marauders - gathered from across the many Skiff crews following Tarrhis or his lieutenants - perked up and ceased clicking. "We activate short-band communications. It is all that will survive the Cabal transmission blockers. Each of you will activate your light-bender _before_ disembarking. Is this clear?"

The gathered scouts and assassins responded with a chorus of "Yes, mine-Captain."

Satisfied, Kiphoris looked at Ikharos. He, in turn, motioned for Xiān to help out. With an exasperated sigh, she unleashed a holographic image of the Cabal encampment.

He pointed far south of it. "We're dropping here. Our first move is to infiltrate the camp unnoticed - together. If we're discovered, we're pulling back immediately and calling this a loss. So, uh, don't get caught."

A low chitter rose from a couple of Eliksni. Not laughter, not quite, but close enough.

Ikharos continued: "Next step is to slip into the carrier. Odds are, I'll be with you up until that point, but we're going to separate eventually. Once I pick up on the Witch's scent, I'm going straight for her. The rest of you make your way towards the bridge, which is here." He gestured to the front of the battered carrier. "When I engage the Broodqueen, the Hive will be put on high alert, but with any luck their gaze will be focused on me. Your job - and only job - is to knock out the blockers. And, if you're feeling real generous, get a transmat zone up and running."

One the Marauders - a higher ranking one if his gilded helmet was anything to judge - raised a meter-long pole with a blinking light on the end. Transmat beacon.

"Yeah, that." Ikharos leaned against the wall as the Skiff hit another gale. "Clear?"

They gave him a series of mumbled affirmatives. Most of them just stared at him, faces hidden beneath their many-eyed masks, as if they'd never seen a human before. They probably hadn't. Not up close, in any case.

"When we're done, return to-"

The Skiff rocked again. So violently Ikharos almost lost his footing and bashed his head on the bench. His gaze snapped to Kiphoris. "The hell is going on out there?!"

Kiphoris didn't reply. Instead, he stood up, opened the hatch to the cockpit, and climbed through. Ikharos waited for him to return, and when he did, his inner eyes were half-lidded with grim concern.

"The storm has returned," Kiphoris reported.

"You're kidding."

" _Nama_. It's building around us. The worst of it lies ahead."

"Where are we? Right now?"

"Over Du Weldenvarden's western edge."

"So it's-"

"Gathering above the Hive." Kiphoris slid back into his seat. "Is this their magic?"

Ikharos shook his head. "No chance in hell. There's nothing Dark about this. Or Light. I can't feel either. Or anything, yet. It's something else."

"It will grow ever stronger the further we fly."

"Then tell your pilots to go low. And get the others to space out. We have to keep going."

Kiphoris unhappily clacked his teeth together. " _Eia_ , I will tell them. Accursed storm. When I find the perpetrator, I will make them regret crossing mine-Scars..." He disappeared back into the cabin.

Xiān deactivated the hologram and flew to Ikharos. "Looks like we're not the only ones to notice the Hive. Think the storm'll prove a problem?"

He shrugged. "Whatever happens, we have to kill that Broodqueen."

"You know, you didn't really answer my question, but okay. I'll take that as a 'yes, Xiān, I do think the storm will prove a problem, Xiān. But thanks for asking, Xiān. Your foresight will see us through any struggle, because you are the best Ghost, Xiān.'"

Ikharos sighed.

"I am the best Ghost, right?" She flew around his head. "The very bestest?"

He tried warding her off. "Quiet. I'm thinking."

"Ooh, dangerous."

"Stop."

She settled on his shoulder. "Fine."

* * *

The rest of the flight was rocky, but the storm otherwise left them be. Ikharos didn't know if it was because of the almost dangerous low altitude at which the pilots flew, or if it was because the storm was otherwise occupied. It could have been both.

When they passed over Ceunon, he sat by a viewport to see it. The city was dark and utterly desolate. A shell of what it used to be. It was unfortunate, and yet ultimately for the greater good. He hoped the former denizens wouldn't return. Nothing waited for them but death and worse.

Then they were past it and flitting over the crystal-calm fjord. Ikharos swallowed and tried, in vain, to assuage his spiking nerves.

 _I'm afraid_ , he realized. The admittance shocked him to the core. Fear of the Hive wasn't something new, but he'd grown familiar with their dark ways. He knew what to expect.

He looked around. Eliksni warriors talked to one another in their barking, clicking language, but it wasn't them he was afraid of. And though he worried for those he'd grown attached to, like Melkris and Formora - especially Formora - it wasn't that fear that held his heart hostage.

_I'm afraid because I'm alone._

There wasn't a single other Risen in sight. None aboard the other Skiffs. No Quantis, no Octavius-8, no Mervath. No Wei, no Eriana, no Eris, no Vell, no Jaren, no Kabr, and no Marin. Those he'd considered friends he could count on were dead or scattered.

No Jaxon. No Lennox-2. No Fireteam Sagittarius.

He had no one to watch his back. No one to keep his flanks clear. It finally hit him: he was _alone_. Utterly. Alone. On a distant world where hundreds of millions of human lives hung in the balance.

The Vanguard should have been told. This was something only they had the resources to cover, and even then it would have been a messy struggle. He could almost imagine how pained Zavala would be when they failed to prevent Kepler's very own Collapse. Or Ikora's guilt as the Hive and the Dark laid claim to yet another human stronghold.

But they wouldn't know. No one knew about Kepler. No one save for Drifter.

Ikharos gritted his teeth. The rat knew, but he wouldn't tell anyone. There was no doubt about that. He'd feign ignorance and offer hollow condolences if anyone got curious about Ikharos's absence.

_The bastard._

" _Ëfa eka ae fá hrygr_ , _eka weohnata efla älfr kaupa_ ," Ikharos quietly swore.

Xiān burrowed further into the crook of his neck. " _I hope we never have to see that oath through._ "

" _You don't think he deserves it_ _?_ "

" _I don't think_ we _deserve it. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: forget Earth. Kepler is our new home._ "

Ikharos closed his eyes. He had a hard time imagining that. " _I'm not happy here._ "

" _You could be. Don't think I haven't noticed._ "

" _I'm not hiding it from you._ "

" _You didn't exactly tell me._ "

" _It's... just something for me to deal with._ "

" _How will you deal with it?_ "

" _I don't know._ "

" _Yeah, you do._ "

" _There's already so much going on._ "

" _Pfft, so?_ "

" _So nothing. Stay out of it._ "

" _Maybe I will, maybe I won't._ "

" _Traveler above, you are so annoying._ "

* * *

When the four Skiffs slowed and activated their stealth generators, Ikharos knew they were closing in. He checked his armour and weapons one final time as the vessel around him swooped low and prepared to land. Kiphoris caught his eye and motioned him on; he followed the Marauders to the tail of the Skiff, where the floor was marked by two rows of four circular hatches.

At a bark from their Captain, the Marauders activated their generators. Arc webbing spread across each and every one of them, bending the light and, eventually, hiding them from view. Kiphoris was the last to do so.

The speakers in Ikharos's helmet buzzed as Xiān keyed him in to the local channel. A series of clicks confirmed that all the present Eliksni in their small band were connected. He murmured the same and gathered the Void around himself. It was comfortingly familiar, and he took solace in the serene calm of it. It wrapped around him like a blanket - a veil to hide him from the world.

When the hatches opened, and the metal bars lowered, Ikharos was first out. He fell twenty feet and cushioned his landing with a Light-formed glide. His only indications of the Eliksni joining him were a faint rustle of short mountain grass and the blue blips on his radar.

Ikharos scanned his surroundings. They were overlooking the valley in which the Cabal carrier - and the encampment around it - were nestled. They were still miles away from the Hive infestation, but that didn't stop him from checking around him.

There was nothing. No Hive, no Cabal, no animals. Everything was quiet. Nothing made a sound - save for the odd shrieking gale.

"We're clear," he reported.

Kiphoris hummed through the radio channel. "So we are. Standby."

Ikharos stepped aside as the Skiffs landed. Two starships slid out of stealth so silently that, had he not been expecting it, he wouldn't have noticed their arrival in the first place. Docking clamps engaged and propped the vessels up on insect-like legs. They looked like wingless bronze dragonflies - a sight to behold.

The moment they were landed their skeleton crews disembarked, with a few familiar faces among them. From the second ship, Ikharos vaguely recognized the crested helmet of Nyreks. The high-ranking Vandal barked orders to the sparse group of reavers and shockshooters, but Ikharos didn't stick around long enough to see what happened next. At a word from Kiphoris, he slipped away with the Marauders and delved deeper into the valley.

They moved quickly. Almost too quickly for him to keep up. Ikharos drew his Lumina in one hand and knife in the other. His eyes were fixed to the north, where towers of hideous black smoke climbed into the sky and smothered the stars. He could already smell the burning oil. And the blood. The Hive weren't being subtle.

He whispered into his mic: "Keep your distance. Don't get close, or they'll realize you're there."

The Eliksni chirped back.

As a group, they crested the final slope between them and the camp. Ikharos slowed to a stop.

Fires raged across the camp, where stray oil had splashed across the beaten earth. Distant figures milled about. Many of them had the telltale three eyes. More didn't. There were a lot of Thrall. Too many. A small horde had gathered around a single emerald pyre. A coven of Wizards floated around it, and Ikharos could only just make out their eerie screams.

**000**

Formora leaned her rifle against her shoulder as she wandered around the perimeter of the landing zone. The Skiffs had already left, along with their crews, leaving only those few chosen to remain behind. A mercifully silent Melkris shadowed her as she set to work.

Whomever had chosen the area had chosen well. While the landing zone itself was in the open, it was situated on a rise that provided ample view of the open valley. The forest behind offered some measure of cover, if it was needed. The only issue she took with it was the possibility of foes approaching from the south. Thus, she took measures to ensure that didn't happen.

She was already on her third ward when Nyreks sought her out. He spoke too quickly for her to properly comprehend. His posture revealed nothing on the matter - Eliksni body language was still beyond her.

"Could you please say that again?" Formora asked.

Melkris took over. "Wants to know what doing."

"Setting..." She didn't know if there was a word for 'ward' in Eliksni. "Setting magic-alarm."

Nyreks stared at her. All four of his eyes were narrowed to equal amounts, amounting to a neutral, thoughtful expression. "Good," he finally said, and walked away.

Melkris chuckled. " _Formora-Zeshus_ puzzle-think _Nyreks-Va'ha_."

It took her a moment to realize what he meant. _Confuse_. "Not you?"

" _Nama_. Melkris is high-smart."

If it had been any other time, Formora might have smiled. As it was, her mood was grim and reluctant to meander away from the cold, practical mindset she'd adopted.

But Melkris didn't care. She didn't think anything could dampen his ever-high spirits. He nudged her elbow, shook his wire rifle, and pointed to the edge of the ridge. "We watch now?"

Formora nodded. "We can watch."

**000**

There were enough breakages in the camp barricades for Ikharos to slip in with ease. The full stench of the place hit him as he took his first steps inside - acrid smoke, coppery gore, and the sickly-sweet scent of Hive. Ikharos almost choked on it. Xiān hastily activated his helmet's filters.

" _That's... That's the smell of death._ " He shuddered.

There was no other choice but to go on.

Not all the Cabal had been killed. Ikharos found that out when he almost bumped into a Centurion and his underlings. They gave no indication of having noticed him or the Marauders; the Promethean Code was working. He watched as the column of Uluru lurched by with all the unbalanced clumsiness of a mindless puppet.

A Wizard flew to them. She hissed at the Cabal and, almost tenderly, shepherded a Legionary away from his group. She guided him forth... and watched with a cackling laugh as a band of Thrall jumped him. They shrieked, clawed, and bit with animalistic savagery. Armour was torn aside. The Thrall hungrily scrabbled at the flesh revealed beneath. The Uluru just stood there, blank-eyed, and allowed it to happen.

The other Cabal marched on, oblivious and uncaring.

 _Infected_. It had all the cruel hallmarks of a Witch's handiwork.

It didn't end there. As the blood loss and mortal wounds finally brought the dying Uluru down, the Wizard darted in and briefly shoved her hand inside. She removed it in a single, brutal motion, and held up, for all to see, the Uluru's bleeding heart. Her eyes - three baleful stars - glittered. She was _ecstatic_.

It sickened him. " _They are cruelty incarnate._ "

The heart lit up. Not with ordinary fire, nor Solar energy. A soft green flame grew around it. Soulfire. Life-kindling.

Xiān shook with horror. " _They're harvesting the Cabal like cattle._ "

Ikharos withheld the urge to shoot the Wizard then and there. Kiphoris and his warriors had already moved on. He rushed to catch up and tried, in vain, to purge, the image from his mind.

The camp had the simple layout all Cabal architecture did, but avoiding the Hive turned it into an ever-changing maze. They slipped from cover to cover, keeping their heads down and weapons readied. It felt wrong to just walk inside the new nest without a horde bearing down on him. Ikharos couldn't shake the fear that, at any moment, the Hive would realize he was there and swarm him.

But they didn't. The Promethean Code held. They made it to the carrier unmarked and undiscovered, and to the broken hull from where the Hive burst out.

"This is where we part ways," Kiphoris whispered.

"Yeah." Ikharos took a deep breath. "Good luck?"

"Fight well, _Ikha Riis_."

It was better than nothing. Ikharos glared at the colossal rupture and pulled the Void ever closer. He took one step, two, three, four, five, and off he went. Into the belly of the beast.

* * *

The inside of the carrier looked more like a nest than a Cabal vessel. Hive growths sprouted along the walls and corners, reaching up towards the ceiling. It was a grotesque mess of bio-organic matter - like a cross between plant and animal. Glowing orange sacs marked where Worm colonies had been seeded. He could _feel_ the keen hunger of the unhatched parasites within.

As despicable as Ahamkara were, they were never so repulsive as this. The Worm's presence were as teeth against his Light, idly scraping against his very soul.

" _They're awful_ ," Xiān whispered. " _They're the worst. The_ worst _._ "

" _Agreed._ "

There was naught to do but carry on, no matter how much he wanted to burn it all down. To do so would draw the eyes of the Hive on him prematurely, and lose all chances of finding the Broodqueen. Ikharos marched on, looking between his radar and his surroundings, and delved ever deeper. A dull pressure built up within his skull, and it increased with every step. Ikharos gritted his teeth and trudged through the overpowering nausea.

The Darkness had a strong presence. The dead carrier was chock full of it.

The path carved through the carrier wasn't devoid of Hive. Thrall wandered about here and there, with the odd Acolyte rummaging through the shattered debris left in the Darkblade's wake. Not one turned to look at him. They had no idea he was there.

Finally, after creeping past pack after pack of fresh Hive, he arrived in the hanger. He almost wished he hadn't.

Where the way in was only beginning to sprout the foundations of growths, the hanger had already been converted into a Hive spawning grounds. Nothing was untouched. Chitinous matter coated every surface, with soulfire crystals and more Worm colonies adorning the odd pillar. It was practically identical to those on Luna and Titan. There were half as many Hive present as there were outside, but many were of higher ranks. Seven Wizards sang in tandem over a clutch of recently-hatched Thrall. A gang of Knights stood guard, looking thoroughly bored. They were led by a larger specimen adorned with thick armour and a heavy, crested helmet. A sword longer than Ikharos was tall was clutched in the monster's massive fist.

It was one of the Darkblade's personal soldiers, and it easily stood at nine, perhaps even ten feet tall.

Ikharos set his jaw. Taking them on was going to be tough.

" _I'm..._ " Xiān hesitated. " _I'm picking up on something._ "

" _What?_ "

" _A sound. It's echoing from the other side of the chamber. It's... singing?_ "

" _The Wizards?_ "

" _No. Different. Stronger. But less... malicious. I mean, it's not a curse._ "

One of the Thrall started to glow blue. It was time to leave.

" _Other side of the chamber?_ " Ikharos asked. He started moving towards the perimeter of the chamber.

" _Yeah._ "

" _Anything else?_ "

" _It's... it's paracausal. The sound shouldn't be reaching us, but it is. Like the walls of this place aren't even there._ "

" _So definitely Hive._ "

" _Yep. Wanna bet it's our queen?_ "

" _Almost certainly._ "

* * *

They traced the song to what had once been the carrier's medical wing. Ikharos only knew it from the large amount of beds and spare oil tossed all around the first room they came across. Mutilated bodies too, but he'd already had more than his fill of horror, so he tried his best to ignore them.

From room to room, the result was the same - nothing left but the dead. Until they reached the last chamber in the wing. Ikharos didn't even need to enter to know the Witch was in there. He could hear her himself. Her cries were softened, but no less cutting. They scraped against his ears and burrowed the meaning of her words in his brain.

The Royal Tongue, the Hive called it. The language of the Ascendants. Understandable to all peoples, no matter their vocabulary.

Ikharos wondered if Kepler's ancient language, Harmonic, worked on the same principles. Both were languages of power. Both held meaning beyond simple words. But, he concluded, one was drenched in Darkness and the other chose the space between.

Their similarities sparked in him a new wave of concerns. More immediately worrying, however, was the presence of one learned in their wicked language.

Ikharos swore under his breath. _Ascendant_. His heart raced and his blood roared in his ears, but he forced himself to wait and draw on the nullscape to banish the anger and fear from his mind. When it was done, and his nerves assuaged by the calm presence of the Void, he made to enter.

The doors to the last chamber had been wrenched open by something colossal and replaced with a thin veil of phantasmal webbing. Ikharos studied the clawmarks and decided it was the work of some sort of Ogre. He inhaled abruptly. If an Ogre was guarding the Broodqueen, then his current task just got a whole lot more tricky.

Ikharos raised his knife and cut through, but he'd barely made it a single pace when the singing (not a curse, he decided, but a Hive version of a lullaby) ceased.

She was in the centre of the room, floating above the floor. Her eyes - five of them, all filled with fire - glared at where he'd slipped in from. She had no mouth. Her head was smooth and featureless but for the eyes and the two massive, crooked horns pointing to the ceiling. A rough, chitinous growth almost identical to a corset folded across her torso, and everything below her waist was hidden with a ragged purple dress painted with pus-yellow runes. Her arms were long and thin, and tipped with slim claws.

The Broodqueen hissed. Ikharos tensed and gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. It had been cleared out - no beds, no oilspills, no bodies. In fact, the only Uluru present were alive - two Colossi, kneeling down and bodies bared from the waist up. They swayed and bled from where the Witch's claws had scored new runes into their leathery skin.

That wasn't the end of her work. Paper - a leathery sort of vellum he really didn't want to know the origin of - hung all along the walls. Lines of winding Hive script danced across them. At the end of the chamber was a podium upon which a chitin-bound scroll floated.

It was a cathedral. A Hive cathedral. And he'd disturbed the abbess's work.

"One enters, and yet I do not see them," the Witch hissed. "One enters, and yet I do not smell them. One enters, and yet I do not taste them. One enters and hides themselves, but they are here. They are here. They are heeeere..." Her gaze lifted to meet that of Ikharos's. Had she a mouth, he'd imagine it would be grinning. "You hide yourself in nothing, but you are not nothing. You see, you walk, you creep, you stalk - you are something. You are here."

She flicked a sharpened finger in his direction. A fizzling sound surrounded him - the Promethean Code had shorted out. Ikharos dropped the veil and aimed at her fifth eye, set in the middle of her forehead. His finger tightened around the trigger. He wasn't certain it would have any effect, and it was that undecidedness that stayed his hand for a moment longer.

The Broodqueen didn't react. Not in the way he'd thought she would. Her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the sight, almost innocently. "Skyborn."

Ikharos didn't reply. He fired anyway. Just so see what would happen. The bullet crashed through her wards and shattered against the shell of her head. She laughed. He formed a spike of Void and let it loose, just as he broke out into a run. She darted away, backwards, and mouthed a shriek. His javelin missed and incinerated a part of the podium instead.

The Broodqueen screamed in outrage. The two Colossi surged to their feet, hefted slug launchers, and swiveled about. When they opened fire, Ikharos was already gone, having Blinked past, and buried his knife in the throat of the first. It gurgled, stared at him with sudden awareness, and fell away.

The second fired again. This time it hit him. His shields held on, but he didn't, and the blast tossed him hard against the wall.

Ikharos didn't give himself time to process the pain or to regain his lost breath, and jumped back into the fray. The remaining Uluru charged, launcher held up in the air like a makeshift club. Ikharos didn't even think; he raised his hand on instinct.

Energy ripped from his palm: boiling, potent, and devoid of all mercy. Armour cracked and flesh cooked. The Colossus disintegrated before he even had time to scream.

The Broodqueen took the Uluru's place. She swung in too fast to dodge, too fast to even mount a defense, and her claws swept against him. His shields were his saving grace, and though they shattered they gave him the split second he needed to pull himself through the beyond and Blink behind her. His Eternity Edge was suddenly in hand, and he brought it down on her back. Shell chipped, and the queen cried out, but it wasn't enough. Little more than an uncoordinated glancing blow.

She tried to dart away. Ikharos loosed a half dozen Solar Seekers after her. They burrowed into her back and erupted into gouts of Solar flames. She screamed - again - and almost fell. The stumbling pause gave him enough time to catch up and-

Ikharos slid to a stop and jumped into a glide just as Void spikes erupted from the floor. The Broodqueen twirled around, no longer feigning injury, and shot a flurry of Arc bolts. He Blinked past her, but not before one of the bolts seared its way across the skin of his shoulder. Ikharos landed with a stumble and emptied the Lumina's chamber onto her. Despite the Light-payload in each bullet, they did little other than chip away tiny notches in her head. He'd hoped to take one of her eyes out, but luck wasn't on his side.

Back to the sword. He propelled himself with a jet of Solar and struck in with a quick, vicious swipe aimed for her neck. The Broodqueen caught the blade in her hands with a sickening crunch - it had lodged deep in the bones of her palms. She shrieked and forcibly twisted away. The blade shattered.

Ikharos, without stopping, tried to drive the jagged hilt into her eyes.

A limb - not one of hers - shot out and swatted him aside. Ikharos hit the ground and rolled up into a defensive stance, but she didn't retaliate. Instead, the Broodqueen contorted in sheer agony, and it left him baffled.

At least until the shadowy outline of a second Broodqueen began to tear away from her.

 _Echo_.

The two Broodqueens - one made of flesh and chitin, the other of shadow and Worm-magic - tore apart from one another with a squelch. Ten burning orange eyes found Ikharos. The original Witch sucked in a deep breath.

" _Find cover!_ " Xiān cried out.

He didn't need to be told twice. Ikharos dove behind one of the Colossi - the only thing within reach, and pulled the corpse up between himself and the Broodqueens.

Her next scream carried fire. Parchment burned. The Colossus sizzled. Ikharos shut his eyes against the glare and curled in on himself as flames flowed past his rapidly disintegrating cover.

At last, to his vast relief, the Broodqueen's cry died off. He shoved the dead Uluru off and tossed what remained of his Eternity's Edge. It caught on the Broodqueen's horn. She lurched back.

Her shadow twin hissed and struck at him with a vengeance. Ikharos danced away from the energy bolts and swinging claws, not able to do much more than slash back with his knife. It dwarfed him, by a large amount, and his knife only had so much reach. He dodged and evaded the shadow Witch to the best of his ability, and blocked her strikes with gathered Light when he couldn't. She was forcing him back, right to the podium upon which rested her beloved scroll.

Ikharos kicked the corner of it on a whim. The scroll trembled and began to roll off.

The original Witch cried out in alarm and rushed past her Dark sister.

 _Perfect_.

" _Jierda_!" Ikharos snapped. A pulse of golden-purple energy violently slammed the Echo aside. His magic turned to the Void, and it filled his hands as a hungry blade. As the original Broodqueen reached to catch her precious scroll, he struck out and separated her right arm from the elbow down. She recoiled, shrieked with genuine pain, and scarcely managed to avoid the strike that would have bisected her from shoulder to hip. He still managed to score a cut across her front. Black blood spilled across her pale green shell and soaked the purple cloth.

She fled the fight entirely. Her Echo flew after her and left more Void caltrops in its wake, though they did little more than stall Ikharos for a few moments. He kept after them. Xiān transmatted an auto rifle into his hands just for good measure.

* * *

The Broodqueen flew to the cargo bay. Ikharos knew it, if only because the trail of blood led in that direction. Hapless to do anything else, he followed.

It was an ambush. He knew it straight away. All the lights - even the Hive crystals - had dimmed away to plunge the entire area in darkness. It was steeped in malice and hunger, and it waited for him to whet its appetite.

"Who am I to deny it?" Ikharos muttered. " _Atra thar waíse garjzl_ a."

A small bluish-white werelight appeared over his shoulder. Its rays should have reached far and white, but the all-consuming shadows buffeted its advances and only allowed him to see a few feet in either direction. There wasn't a sound to be heard, nor an eye to be seen. The Hive had seemingly abandoned the hanger.

Ikharos didn't believe it for a second. It didn't help that his radar was nothing but red.

He entered, with the rifle's stock pressed against his shoulder and his eyes glued to the holographic sight. He swept it around, looking for the flicker of green that would pre-empt the first strike. There wasn't any. Not one.

_Where are they? What are they waiting for?_

Ikharos drifted further and further in. He scanned the ground, but there was no trap lying in wait. Nothing. He knew they were there. They likely knew that he was aware of them. But they didn't act. And that threw him for a loop.

Then he heard the sound of heavy footfalls rapidly approaching.

" _Roll!_ " Xiān yelped. He rolled. A colossal axe slammed down where he'd just been standing. Ikharos found his footing and opened fire, but his assailant was gone and the axe with it. Ikharos fired in the direction it had disappeared, and the gloom swallowed his bullets. He didn't even hear them hit the walls of the hanger.

"Hive magic," he growled. They were isolating him. Cornering him. And letting the Darkblade have his fun. " _Oh, psekisk. Xiān, see where she's gone?_ "

" _No idea. Could be anywhere._ "

" _What about the Darkblade?_ "

" _Can't see him either._ " Her voice was shaky.

Ikharos's breathing hastened. He couldn't control it. " _We need to get out of here. Regroup and-_ "

" _Reconsider?_ "

" _Now's not the time for jokes._ "

" _Well, we're not getting out. They're here._ "

" _I know, that's why I'm-_ "

" _No. They're all in here with us._ "

Almost on cue, the whisperings began. A thousand voices hissed out and a sea of green eyes opened and pierced the dark. On the far side of the chamber, three purple searchlights glared at him - Shriekers. They hovered over a downed Harvester, upon which floated the dual Broodqueens.

Ikharos never had any luck with Hive expressions. He could understand an Uluru and an Eliksni well enough, yet Hive were completely alien to him. But hate was universal. And there was no mistaking the hatred radiating off the queens as they both glared at him.

" _There she is_ _._ " He took a step in her direction.

" _DOWN!_ "

Ikharos dropped without hesitation. The axe swept just over him, missing by millimetres, but the followup strike of the Darkblade's fist hit him in full. It knocked the wind out of him and tossed him aside. Ikharos landed hard and tumbled to stop. His auto rifle was gone.

He lurched to his feet, weaponless. And when the Darkblade came in again, he turned to the Light. A blade of pure flame clashed against the bone-hadium weapon and held it still, right above his head. The Darkblade's featureless visage leered at him in the flickering light. "Skyyyyyborn," it rumbled.

Ikharos filled its face with crackling electricity. It broke away with a huff and disappeared into the shadows. A throng of Thrall took its place. They came in their dozens, drawn to his Light like moths to a flame.

So he gave them flame.

Ikharos stretched out his Solar wings and took to the air. With each wave of his hands, Hive burned. They screamed and died. And still they came. More and more, swarming for a morsel of stolen Light. They charged, egged on by peers and Worms. They ended, wishes unfulfilled and parasites unsated. And more yet ran to take their place, all hoping to be the one to end him.

It was disgusting. A grand show of selfishness and glory-hogging. When he slew them, Ikharos held no remorse. They were lesser beings. Always lesser. They deserved nothing short of gruesome deaths, so that's what he did. Killed gruesomely. It wasn't long before alien dust and viscera coated his robes so thoroughly there wasn't an inch of blue and silver to be found.

A Knight charged in. It was one of the larger ones. Ikharos ducked beneath its overly ambitious strike and stepped in close. He shot a palm full of power against the elbow of its sword arm. The weapon dropped from nerveless fingers. He caught it out of the air and decapitated its previous owner. Now armed, he faced the oncoming waves of bodies and met them with knife and cleaver and Light.

**000**

Formora didn't move. She breathed slowly and shallowly, and forced herself to remain as still as a statue. Her shoulder ached where her rifle pressed against it, but it was a lowly, unimportant ache. She ignored it. And, not least of all, she made no sound.

Melkris, surprisingly, did just the same. The normal rambunctious shockshooter had become an entirely different person. He watched the northern horizon and didn't move for anything. He was seated beside her, with his cloak gathered about himself to keep the cold at bay.

Formora resisted the urge to shiver. The winds carried with them a northern chill. She glanced up. The clouds were low and dark, blanketing the starry sky with their ugly mass. She imagined it would rain soon. Perhaps before Kiphoris and Ikharos returned. Which may have been advantageous - or perhaps not. She didn't know how the Hive worked.

A tingling sensation ran up her back. Formora's breath caught in her throat. She turned to Melkris, eyes wide, and whispered, "My wards have been sprung."

He looked back with his inner eyes shuttered. "... Psekisk," he muttered, and reached for something at his belt. He held it up to his mouth and chittered too quietly and quickly for her to make out the words. The response was immediate. The other Eliksni nearby shuffled and turned around with weapons drawn.

Melkris stood up. Formora stood with him and scanned the treeline. Nothing moved within, but her wards were still warning her. And not just the one - more than half of them were acting up.

Melkris removed his facemask and tasted the air. Almost immediately he recoiled and hissed viciously. " _Er'kanii_! Many! Nyreks!" He called out. The commanding swiveled about. " _Er'kanii_!"

"Psekisk!" The lead Vandal looked about. "What do?"

" _Nama_..." Melkris turned to Formora. "Hide us! Quick-act!"

"I'll... try," she hesitated. Disguising oneself was a complex spell. There were too many senses to feasibly fool.

Melkris turned back to Nyreks. "Zeshus hide us! Quick, gather!"

Nyreks chirped. The Eliksni drifted in with their claws on triggers. They refused to group together as a crowd, but they were close enough together that Formora reasoned hiding them was possible. She pieced together the appropriate incantation and whispered it under her breath. " _Garjzla_ , _eitha nosu_. _Vindr_ , _kunna nosu néiat_. _Frethya nosu frá allr_."

No sooner had she enacted the spell when a distant howl split the air. It sent chills running down her spine. Whatever it was, it was no person or beast native to Alagaësia. Nothing she knew of could make a sound like that.

"We far-wind," Melkris muttered into her ear. He crouched down beside her. It took her a moment to translate his words. _We are downwind of them._

"What are they?" She whispered back.

" _Er'kanii_. Flesh-Eaters. Act-serve for Cabal."

"What about-"

Melkris jerked and stared into the trees. Formora saw nothing - only shadows. But she didn't dare move. The shockshooter had caught sight of something, and she doubted it was a stray human traveler.

He pointed at something. Formora followed his claw and frowned. Nothing... then something. It stalked out of the undergrowth some distance away, but there was nothing human, elven, or dwarven about it. At first, given how it moved, she presumed it to be another Eliksni, but the dimensions were all wrong. Its legs were shorter and stockier, it only had two long and gangly arms, it had an strangely arched back, and its head was almost twice as large and consisted mostly of jaw.

While it wore armour not entirely different from that worn by Cabal, it had no helmet. Its head was elongated, with a blunt snout upon which were four sensitive nostrils. Its lower jaw jutted forward, giving it an underbite, and from it sprouted curved fangs so large that it couldn't truly close its mouth. More of the same hung from the upper jaw, and interlocked with those of the lower, but they were marginally shorter. Rivulets of saliva freely dripped from its chin.

It looked to be grinning.

In place of ears it had two tympanums, like a reptile. There were no eyes, or even eye sockets, anywhere on its head. Only a series of dark patches towards the rear of its skull and down its neck. The reddish skin of the creature was smooth - no fur or scales. It almost looked wet, as if covered in a transparent coating of mucus.

The creature took a few steps out of the tree line and lowered itself onto all fours. There was a weapon tucked under one arm. Some sort of massive firearm, again not dissimilar to those she'd seen by Cabal corpses in Ceunon. It brought its head low and all four of its nostrils cycled in air. It was checking for scents.

Melkris raised his rifle and aimed directly at the creature's head, yet he did not fire. His inner eyes were completely closed and his outer had narrowed to needle-thin points. Anger and disgust radiated off of him in waves.

"Wait." She put a hand on his shoulder.

The creature, still oblivious to the guns trained on it, raised its head and loosed a throaty bellow. Identical calls echoed from the forest. There were others nearby, and they were many.

"What now?" Formora asked as quietly as she could.

Melkris glanced at her, but didn't answer. He had no idea.

So much for keeping the area clear.

* * *

Other creatures - other Er'kanii - arrived. The first turned to the second and snapped at it. The second snapped back. They fought, like squabbling hounds, and broke apart only when the third arrived. Then there was more snapping. More quarrelling. And more howls. The only ones who seemed capable of commanding them to stop where those of larger sizes, and even then they bullied and punished those they commanded.

The Er'kanii drifted away further down the treeline. They were steadily edging in the direction of the Cabal camp, but they shied away from the open valley. Formora wondered if it was the presence of the Hive that gave them pause.

They numbered three dozen, four dozen, more. A final pack, consisting of the biggest Er'kanii of all, arrived and prodded some semblance of order into their underlings. They were, in turn, led by an individual easily as tall as Kiphoris and Sundrass. That one had dorsal spines, and when itsthe quills shook the other Er'kanii fell silent. It barked behind it, to the rear of its personal pack, and they hurried along.

They were carrying something between them. Formora corrected herself: _someone_. It was large, many limbed, and- Eliksni!

Melkris made a soft growling sound. " _Nama_..." He rasped.

"Who..." Formora began to ask, but then she caught sight of the horns sprouting from its back and she knew.

It was Skolas. The Ahamkara of Ceunon.

**000**

Kiphoris chirped, quietly, into his helmet's microphone. "Thrall seven paces left. Circle around."

They were closing in on the bridge. There was an initial difficulty in making it past the roving Hive, but Ikharos's attack worked splendidly and cleared them a path in little time. The moment the Broodqueen's screams rippled throughout the ship, gangs of loping cultists surged back towards the hanger.

But not all. Some remained. Others yet charged in the opposite direction. The distant cries of Acolytes and Thralls and, on rare occasion, a Knight echoed down the corridors to reach them. The Hive were hunting. Or chasing. Or both.

They weren't the only ones taking advantage of the Lightbearer's distraction.

Sometimes, they found the Hive weaklings already dead and lying in the hallway. Ugly craters marked where Cabal slugs had ripped through their thin exoskeleton. Others bore fatal wounds that could only have been left by the burning touch of a Severus.

"Cabal ahead," Arxiks muttered. "Their heading aligns with ours, mine-Captain."

Kiphoris pulled his mandibles against his jaw and clicked his teeth together. " _Eia_ , it does." He straightened. "Remain hidden. If Cabal and Hive fight, it is to our advantage. We need only the bridge. Their deaths do not interest me."

Beraskes growled. "If they bring the Hive to the bridge, we will have no choice but to fight."

"They will be distracted with one another," Kiphoris reminded her. "We will slip our blades between their ribs when their eyes are focused elsewhere."

His Marauders chirped in approval. They liked that idea.

* * *

The Hive cries were soon accompanied by the sounds of battle, and then soon after by Uluru roars - though whether infected or not, he didn't know. Kiphoris drew Ka'Den and let his fingers drift over the Arc-trigger beneath the basket-guard. He gripped it tight and held it close, while he drew twin shock pistols with his secondary arms. Around him, his warriors brandished their own weapons: shock blades, Arcarms, grenades, and bare claws.

And all would prove near useless if the Hive ahead were led by a seasoned Wizard.

In that moment, Kiphoris wished, more than anything, to have been capable of wielding magic as Javek was. He would have given up an arm for the gift. Perhaps more. To be elevated to a position equal to that of a Maw-worshipping Witch would be invaluable in the fight against the Hive and the Shades.

It had not escaped his attention that the current war had entirely outclassed him _and_ his people. Everything had magic - Hive, Cabal with their Psions, humans, Harmony, even the Vex. But not Eliksni. All they had were latent abilities they could only improve by begging the elves to teach them. For all their swords, all their guns, and all their machines, all of it meant nothing if a Shade could kill a dozen of his people with a single word.

"Mine-Captain?"

"Arxiks?" He replied, harsher than he should have been.

"We... we are approaching the command deck. The gravity lift ahead may be deactivated."

"Then we will climb." Kiphoris marched ahead. He sheathed Ka'Den and holstered his pistols, then shoved his claws between the unmoving doors to the elevator and forced them open. They moved with a dull metallic shriek that was far too loud for his liking. He only stopped when the gap was large enough for him to squeeze through - which he did. He looked up and down the dark elevator shaft, found a handhold by the doors, and hefted himself up.

They needed a new weapon. Elven magic was one, Arke another, but those were fledging edges. Little knives in a game of swords. All he could do was hone those knives to a deadly edge in the low hopes that the first sword to strike would miss.

The Monoliks-Syn was their sword, but it was lost to Krinok's mad dash for glory. It was the blade by which Valdas-kel had carved her path through the stars for centuries.

They needed to reclaim it. Kiphoris growled as he climbed. Krinok would try to keep it from them and Tarrhis was too afraid to strike against his own people, but every day they remained in exile from their house was another day for the other Eliksni to lose faith.

He would have to speak with Ikharos about that. The Lightmonger was useful in a fight and resourceful when pressed. His insight was a breath of fresh air compared to the stale taste of Tarrhis's traditional approach.

Kiphoris shook his head to clear away the fanciful thoughts. There were more pressing matters to confront. And Hive to kill.

The roar of combat had reached a ferocious pitch. The doors to the floor above them were ajar, and as he levered himself up to the ledge, he practically found himself face-to-face with a Thrall.

Kiphoris burrowed his claws in its throat on instinct, only to realize it was already dead. He hissed, pulled his hand away, and flicked the viscera off. A chunk had been blown out of its head.

Beyond the prone corpse, other Thrall lay strewn about. They'd been the ones to take the brunt of the Cabals' counterattack. The Hive remaining consisted of surviving Acolytes and a single cleaver-bearing Knight. They stood scattered around the corridor, focus firing on the massive doorway at the end.

Kiphoris narrowed all four eyes. It was the bridge. And the defending Cabal were taking cover inside. At least, those who'd survived had. More than a few of their number had already fallen outside the room. The Knight himself was finishing one off; a Centurion who'd thought himself a hero.

"Psekisk." Kiphoris vaulted into the corridor and crouched low, lest a stray slug catch him in the head. The Cabal and Hive were exchanging fire, but the former were firing more irregularly than they should have. They were running out of ammunition.

Behind him, the rest of the Marauders clambered inside. Arcarms were charged and shock blades activated. He would have feared for the sound if not for the din of battle covering every electrical crackle.

Beraskes made a disappointed sound. "Cabal have settled in. Their position is... unfortunate."

"Let them expend themselves upon the Hive," Ursin spat. "Then we strike."

"Nama," Kiphoris said severely. He had to speak up to be heard over the whine of gunfire. " _Ikha Riis_ cannot distract the Hive for much longer. Once he is finished with the Witch, so are we. Whatever we do, we do it now."

By his count, the Hive numbered twenty-five strong. A trio of Thralls ripped at a Psion's cooling corpse, and the single Knight just finished removing the Centurion's head, but the rest were Acolytes determined on killing the rest of the free Cabal.

A red laser briefly hovered over an Acolyte's sternum. Not a moment later, a rocket-propelled slug crashed right through and out the other side. The Hive's lifeless body fell with a thump.

He stood corrected: twenty-four.

The Cabal numbered less. Two Phalanx covered the entrance, and behind them three other Uluru hid and waited for the opportunity to fire back. A couple of Psions scampered around them, either taking part in the fight or resuppling their overlords. And somewhere, further back, a sniper patiently waited for his golden chance.

"Kill the Hive first," Kiphoris ordered, "and then we deal with the Cabal after. Watch their fire. Don't get shot."

Beraskes snorted. "Don't get shot? Did Melkris tell you that, mine-Captain?"

"Enough," Kiphoris snarled. He hadn't the patience to deal with her jokes. "Follow my lead."

He edged forwards, to where the rearmost Acolytes had gathered, and, without slowing down, lanced Ka'Den directed through the spine and stomach of the first he reached. His claws clamped around the Acolyte's head to silence its cries and twisted until he heard a dull crack. Its fellows surged to their feet, but they were similarly cut down by cloaked Marauders.

Their absence wouldn't go unnoticed. Kiphoris kept going to make the most of the Hive's unawareness. He dragged another Acolyte back and discharged an Arc round into its head while Arxiks killed its squealing Worm. Around them, others tackled down Hive and hastily ended them.

The more they killed, the less intense the barrage assailing the Cabal was. It didn't take long for the Knight and its underlings to realize something was amiss, and they turned around with perplexed snarls. The Knight raised its swords and bellowed a challenge.

Kiphoris burst out of stealth and tore its throat out with a twitch of his sword. The beast lurched back, surprised, and clutched its neck in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding. He didn't even allow it the chance to do that; Kiphoris closed the distance and swept his blade to and fro. Ka'Den flickered with power and dove through flesh and armour without caring to slow. It moved as he desired it to move, and when he finished eviscerating the Knight he moved onto its children.

He removed heads and hewed limbs with effortless strokes of his crackling blade. Kiphoris made of himself a gale of violence and ruthlessness, stamping out green-eyed life wherever he found it. If he was weaver and battle was his loom, then his blade was his needle.

Over and around him, Arc bolts seared past and cut down Hive en masse. His Marauders were warriors proven, and they did not miss. Their trade was war and death their specialty. Their ambush could only have one end, and that was the conclusion they reached. Not one Hive, or dreaded Worm, remained when they finished their grim work.

Which left only the Cabal between them and their goal.

In a flash, Kiphoris held Ka'Den up in a guarding position and raised his pistols. A half-dozen rifles aimed right back, but not a single slug or bolt was exchanged. All the watching Cabal gave him were baffled stares.

"Captain?" Arxiks whispered. His voice carried through their radio. "What now?"

Kiphoris spoke quietly, so as to not alert the Uluru. "Beraskes, Ursin: flank the door. The rest of you: hold. Remain hidden."

"BARBARIAN!" A voice called from the bridge. The speaker roared the word in odd-sounding Ulurant - the Torobatlaan accent. It had been some time since he'd last heard it.

Not a moment later, another voice greeted him with a softer, but no less cold, "Eliksni."

Kiphoris tilted his head. "You know Low Speak?" He called.

The answer came after a lengthy pause. "I do."

It was a Psion. The voice was significantly higher pitched, and no Uluru would ever speak so civilly to one of his people.

"If you run," Kiphoris said slowly, "you might live."

The Psion - he couldn't see... him? her? them - didn't say anything for a long time. Then, likely after speaking with their cohorts, they replied, "Is that a threat?"

_A threat?_

He almost choked on his disbelief. Cabal audacity never ceased to amaze him. "You... are surrounded by Hive and faced with me. Your precious victory is out of question. _Eia_ , it is a threat." Kiphoris took edged closer. The Uluru shook their weapons for emphasis, but he was not afraid. "Shall I make mine-words clearer? Run, little Cabal. Run. Before you exhaust my mercy."

The Psion ignored that. Of course they did. They were as much Cabal as their Uluru masters. "Where are your Marauders?"

Kiphoris shrugged with all four arms. "Here and there."

"What do you want, Eliksni?"

"The same as you, little Cabal. An end to these... fiends." He nudged the limp form of an Acolyte. "Poisonous things. They ruin all they touch."

"There are no Hive in here."

" _Nama_. But I still wish to take that room. Leave it to me and mine, and I will allow you to keep your lives."

"You'll kill us the moment we move."

"You'll die regardless. Take a chance or wait for a certainty - it matters not to me."

"The Cabal Empire doesn't negotiate with barbarians."

Kiphoris sighed - for show more than anything else. He knew they wouldn't take up his offer. "Great Machine knows I tried to be merciful."

"Mine-Captain?" Beraskes whispered.

Kiphoris leaned forward and tightened his hold on Ka'Den. "Take them. Alive if you can. There are answers I want to draw from them."

As ever, he attacked first. Kiphoris needed to set the example - he was the Captain, the Dreamer, the Wolfborn who navigated the Network, an outrider to the Scars, and a trailblazer for paths unwalked. Just as slugs rippled through the air and crashed against his Arc shield, he teleported past the flying munitions, past the Phalanx and into the bridge.

The result was immediate; the Cabal were left shocked, and he made the most of it. A flurry of shots sent the Psion sniper by a computer terminal ducking for cover. With another hand, he grabbed a second Psion and roughly shoved them to the floor. Ka'Den pierced a Legionary's suit and went right through the Uluru's arm, forcing it to drop its gun.

The lead Cabal swiveled about, a Severus already in hand, and tried to take Kiphoris's head off. Ka'Den met it and redirected the blow into the floor. The superheated blade carried right through the steel floor and kept on going, throwing the apparent Uluru Centurion (though Kiphoris couldn't be sure) off-kilter.

A well-tossed shock grenade sent the two Phalanx reeling back. His Marauders flooded in, firing and slashing with purpose. A heavy shield struck out towards Ursin, but he effortlessly slipped around the assault and tripped the Phalanx up with a flurry of sword strikes. He laughed the entire time.

The Severus-bearing Uluru recovered and rushed back to resume their duel. Kiphoris didn't keep him waiting. He deflected the first strike, dodged the second, and parried the third. His opponent - clad in eloquent armour of cream and gold - huffed and kept on fighting. As lacking as the Cabal was when it came to finesse, he was no stranger to bladework: each of his attacks had a directive, and though Kiphoris swatted them all aside, he couldn't deny that the Uluru had some measure of skill.

A Gladiator perhaps? Few legions employed those, and the Uluru he fought wasn't garbed in a traditional pit fighter's garb. His dress was heavier, like a cross between an Incendior and a Colossus. But there was something different that he couldn't put his claw on. A familiarity in the subtle curves and tilts of the plating, as if it were hiding something between the layers of alloy.

"Blighter," the Uluru hissed through gritted teeth. He wore no helmet, leaving his head bare. His leathery skin shone with sweat, and his lips were pulled back in a fierce grimace. With a push, the not-Gladiator pushed Kiphoris back and-

And he disappeared. Out of sight

Kiphoris blinked in surprise. He stepped away, too late, and the Severus scored a burning line across his chest. Kiphoris stumbled back, snarling with pain, and hastily looked around. The fight was going the way of the Eliksni, but he couldn't see any sign of the not-Gladiator.

Invisible. Cloaked. Out of sight.

Ignoring the pain, Kiphoris laughed just as loudly as Ursin was. He found it endlessly amusing, and when he backed away and prepared to defend himself, he kept on chuckling. "I love fighting your Cabal," he admitted, just loudly enough for his opponent to hear. "Never are there more dangerous fools than your people."

Kiphoris heard the scream of air splitting across a blade's edge, and he ducked away as the invisible Severus swept just overhead. He closed his outer eyes - he didn't need to rely on sight for this.

"You use mine-own people's weapons against me? I know these machines. I have known them all my life. I was hatched to stalk mine-foes unseen."

Another strike came for him. The Severus was too loud. It did the Uluru no favours.

"You were not. You were born to bellow and pummel. Primitive tools. I admire your desire to surpass your poor beginnings, but it will not save you."

Kiphoris flicked the tip of Ka'Den up, catching the unseen Cabal cleaver and holding it in place. He discharged both pistols into where he imagined the Uluru's stomach would be. His opponent jerked and twitched, and his form returned to view as the Arc rounds overcharged his reverse-engineered stealth generator. His sword dangled from a weak grip.

It was all the invitation Kiphoris needed. He pounced, drove the not-Gladiator to the ground, and directed Ka'Den through the Uluru's shoulder and into the floor below. The skewered soldier groaned and tried to push Kiphoris off, but his strength had all but abandoned him.

Around them, the fight paused. An echoing shout bounced around the room. One of the Psions stared at Kiphoris. Her eye was wide and her alien face unreadable, but her stance was not. She slowly placed her rifle on the ground and raised her empty hands.

"Don't," she said in fluent Low Speak. She was the translator.

Kiphoris pressed a claw against the not-Gladiator's throat for good measure. "You rebuffed mine-mercy already. Tell me why I shouldn't end this mine-way."

The Psion took a deep breath. "You want glimmer, yes? That's what you Eliksni love, right?"

"Glimmer?" Kiphoris's interest turned to white-hot rage. "You think me a common pirate? You think me nothing but a creature of greed?!" He emptied his lungs and refilled them. The cold air reined in his mounting anger. "And where is this Glimmer you offer? If I were a pirate, I'd kill you and take it anyways!"

"We don't have it," the Psion admitted reluctantly. "But our comrades do. Ransom."

"Neuroc!" The not-Gladiator weakly scolded.

"You have no comrades left," Kiphoris pointed out. "None but those in this room. Or... have others escaped?"

The Psion, Neuroc, said nothing.

"Bah!" Kiphoris pressed his knee into his opponent's stomach to stifle his complaints. "I need no Glimmer." He met the Psion's one-eyed gaze and said, in flawed Ulurant, "You will gift me something else. Information."

"We'll never betray-" One of the Phalanxes began to say, until Beraskes pressed a sword against his throat.

Kiphoris waved the rebuttal aside. "Take their weapons," he ordered, switching back to Eliksni. The first Psion quietly translated to her fellow soldiers. "Any who resists will die. Those who comply with my demands may live. Arxiks!"

"Yes, mine-Captain?" The Marauder came into view not five paces away.

Kiphoris gestured to the back of the room. "Do what we came here for and send a message to Sundrass. The bridge is ours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Massive thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
> 
> The Erechaani, or Er'kanii to the Eliksni, are one of the few not-in-Destiny races I've made for this fic (Harmony are technically already in the Destiny universe but probably not as I've made them here), and the only ones I've fleshed out. I like the idea of creating new races and all, but I feel it'll stray too far from the spirit of what Destiny is, so they're the extent of how far I'd go.
> 
> Their presence is mainly to show that there would be some influence of different client species on the Cabal Empire, even in the military. Even if it's all we've seen ingame, I like to think that the Cabal military isn't just the Cabal and the Psions and their dogs.
> 
> The Erechaani were influenced by SCP-939(from the SCP Mythos), a viperfish(from real life), and touch of the the savage and monomaniacal nature of Brutes/Jiralhanae(from Halo).


	52. Battle of Magnus Vae II

The lead Er'kanii never left her sight. She didn't allow for it. It was a massive, fearsome thing - all tooth and maw and muscle. It appeared to send instructions to its subordinates solely through the movement of the quills affixed to its neck and spine. The lesser Er'kanii scurried around it with lowered heads and trembling growls, but the moment its attention strayed they went right back to bickering amongst themselves in the most savage of fashions.

Formora despised them. She was surprised by how vehemently she detested their presence, having only known of them for less than an hour. They weren't human, dwarf, urgal, elf, dragon, or werecat. They did not call Alagaësia home. They were not clever as the similarly foreign Eliksni were. They had none of the awareness of a Risen. Even the Cabal could be capable of some degree of decency. But not they. Not the Er'kanii. All they had was a need to bite and bully.

They didn't deserve Alagaësia. They had no right to it. And, above all else, no right to the Ahamkara's corpse.

"Bad," Melkris hissed. "High-bad."

Formora said nothing. 'High-bad' went some ways to describing how dire the situation was. She had no inclination to see what devastation Wish-magic could cause in the hands of the Er'kanii. Or worse: the Hive.

Ikharos would probably say something along the lines of... No. He wouldn't. All he'd do would be to walk in among the Er'kanii and destroy the body - along with whoever tried to stop him.

She almost wished for him to return, only to viciously cut that line of thinking off. Formora's mouth went dry; the Ahamkara, even dead, was too close to take any chances with. She forcibly looked down and concentrated on a single blade of grass until all thoughts drained away and the nullscape slid into place.

Melkris nudged her. His head had turned to stare at something else. Formora followed it to the valley leading to the Cabal camp. A sizable group of vaguely humanoid figures were marching towards them. And towards the Er'kanii. One of them was floating above the ground. A ragged dress fell from its midriff, coloured too darkly for her to make out the runes dotting it.

Formora inhaled too quickly. _Wizard_.

It wasn't the only Hive there. Other three-eyed beasts loped beside it, behind it, but never in front. It was their leader. Their mother. Except for the Knight. The Knight didn't hold to the same rules. It marched ahead of her with a loose hold of its nightmarish weapon.

Formora knew it was a Knight from the first glance. It was larger than all the others, just as she was warned it would be. Where the other Hive were human-sized, it was taller than a Kull. Where their limbs were thin with hunger, its were bound with dried muscle and dusty armour. It bore a large helmet, revealing little else of its skull besides its mean eyes and macabre grin. It dragged a monstrous blade after it, easily large enough to behead a grown dragon in one vicious swipe. The blade tore through the hard ground and gave metallic shrieks whenever it found stone.

It was the creature from her dream. Or one of them, in any case.

They weren't many, especially compared to the huge pack of Er'kanii, but they still outnumbered all the present Eliksni. Even if they hadn't, Formora suspected that it wouldn't have mattered. Not with the Knight and Wizard both there.

The rest of the Hive growled and hissed. The Er'kanii heard them coming and fell silent. The smaller beasts nervously retreated towards the treeline. Only their leader and his lieutenants stood their ground, flanking the Ahamkara body.

 _We need to destroy it_ , she concluded. Her heart hammered and her chest tightened, but she knew - she _knew_ \- that the Ahamkara couldn't be allowed to go to the Hive.

Ikharos's tales of his ancient foes painted a terrifying picture of what letting them have it would look like. Even without his warnings, even without having heard of the Hive before, she would have known it just by looking at them. They were worse than the Er'kanii. Worse than Shades. Worse than anything. And everything. Something had to be done.

She told Melkris just that.

" _Nama_!" He hissed. "Cannot! Will not!"

"We have to-" Formora sucked in a breath. The Wizard, still some distance off, paused. It turned its head this way and that, and then looked in their general direction.

The wind was blowing in a northwesterly direction, and it carried their scent away from Er'kanii and Hive both. But that wasn't what the Wizard focused on. With a sudden helpless feeling, Formora realized what the issue was. "Melkris." She got to her feet.

He grabbed her wrist, as if fearing she'd charge right ahead. She resisted the urge to shake him loose. "What?"

"It can sense us."

Melkris's grip trembled. " _Nama_. You hide us."

 _Therein lies the danger_. "That's why. It can sense my magic."

**000**

Kiphoris watched as his Marauders herded the insolent Cabal into the far side of the bridge. Each of them had been thoroughly searched and disarmed, then shackled with Arc bindings. His assistance was largely unnecessary - save for the occasion where one of the Legionaries bucked against his warriors' instructions.

All he needed to do was raise Ka'Den and activate its shock cores. The Uluru complied much more readily after that.

It was, however, the Psions that truly gave him pause. For all the strength of their masters, they were cunning creatures capable of far more than their diminutive and fragile frames boasted. A neurojammer had been activated in the centre of the room. He wasn't certain if any of them were Flayers, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

"Name your legions," he demanded.

Not one of the prisoners answered him.

Kiphoris drew a pistol and aimed it directly at a Psion's head. "You. Name your legion."

It glared at him and huffed through its gills.

He tilted his head. "Stubborn." Kiphoris grabbed the neurojammer - a small device that fit snugly in his palm - and brought it closer. All three Psions cringed with discomfort. "Legion. Tell me. Now."

"Worldbreaker!" The first hissed.

Kiphoris stepped back. Not all the way. He wanted them to feel the neurojammer's teeth against their throats. "Why are the Hive here?"

"I-I don't know!"

He held it out towards them. "Are you lying to me?"

"No! Please!"

One of the three slumped over, gasping for air.

"The Hive arrived here with you," Kiphoris continued, "and they came from your ship. How?"

"Castaways!" Neuroc gasped. "Tricked us!"

Satisfied, Kiphoris retreated two long paces. He gave her a hard look. "Did you know about the cult?"

"We-"

"Ha!" Arxiks trilled from where he messed with the communications array. He turned around and waved. "Mine-Captain, I have it!"

Kiphoris clicked slowly. _One step closer to victory_. His gaze lingered on the Cabal. He motioned for Beraskes to keep her eyes on them, flicked his cloak behind him, and marched over to Arxiks. The terminal at which the Marauder worked was alight with Ulurant numbers and letters. Kiphoris tapped it with a single claw and watched it shift.

Arxiks quietly chirped, "Shall I send the message?"

"Do it." Kiphoris stepped back and returned to the prisoners. He put the neurojammer down and leaned on Ka'Den. "What else do you know of these Hive?"

This time, the Psions were more willing to divulge their knowledge. "Small cult," one whispered, "but with a Broodqueen and her coven of Wizards. They'll spread like wildfire."

"I know this already. Give me more."

"I-"

Neuroc cut the technician off with a strained look. She reluctantly turned to Kiphoris and narrowed her single eye. Ka'Den's flickering blade reflected off her Y-shaped pupil. "They're infiltrators. Meant to poke holes in the empire's stability. They've infected soldiers and gathered them under a single cause."

"I still know all this." Kiphoris was fast growing impatient. "Do you truly not understand your foe? Have you never looked into their reasonings?"

The not-Gladiator looked up. "They're your foes too," he spat.

Kiphoris went quiet. He pressed his mandibles against the sides of his battlemask. "Mind your tongue," he warned.

"Or what? You'll kill us?" The Uluru laughed humourlessly. "You'll do that anyways."

"Almost certainly in your case."

"You're afraid, barbarian."

Kiphoris tilted his head. "Afraid?"

The not-Gladiator stuck out his chin. "Of having a fair fight."

A challenge. Kiphoris clicked to himself, eyes only for the audacious Uluru. He gave it thought and, with deliberation, pressed Ka'Den's point against the Uluru's throat. "I've defeated you once already. And the fight was in _your_ favour."

"I knew it. Afraid."

Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. "Cabal: always so eager to die." He pressed the sword closer. "On your feet or on your knees? How do you want to die?"

"With my blade in your skull." The Uluru glowered at him.

"On your knees, then." He pulled back in preparation for a swing to take the Uluru's head. The other Cabal panicked, but the not-Gladiator remained as he was. Glaring.

A panicked call stopped Kiphoris in his tracks. Arxiks looked at him from across the room with all four eyes wide with panic. "Mine-Captain!"

He rushed over. A thousand different scenarios ran through his mind; the Skiffs were gone, the Hive had noticed them, Tarrhis was under attack, Krinok's forces had come to see what had befallen the Cabal. "What is it?"

Arxiks tapped at the screen as if willing it to change. "Communications remain cut!"

"But..." He ground his teeth. "Was this not the place it came from?"

" _Eia_ , but this is new! It is not Cabal work. Something else is-"

**000**

"-blocking us," Nyreks solemnly reported. "Cannot reach Skiffs. Must use fire-shot."

The Wizard was getting closer, Formora noted. Slowly, but surely, the Hive were making their way up to the Er'kanii, but it hadn't stopped looking their way. It wouldn't be long before Formora's spell was seen for what it was and they were revealed.

Nyreks exhaled fitfully. "Fire-shot too bright. Er'kanii will see. Hive will see."

"Is there anything else we can do?" She pressed. A heavy rain had begun to fall, and droplets constantly splashed against the glass of her helmet to blur her vision. It was infuriating.

"... _Ikha Riis_?"

"Not here," Melkris whispered. "Hive are. Take much-long."

"Then what can we do?" Formora cut in again. The spell was going strong, but she didn't think she could keep it up much longer. There were too many senses to fool and too many people to hide. If pushed, she could turn to the energy she had stored in Vaeta's garnet, but that was a reservoir she'd saved for something else. Something closer to the heart.

But there wouldn't be a heart left if the Hive took it out.

"So be it. Signal the Skiffs," Formora whispered. "We can't let them have the wish-dragon."

"Cannot fight Hive and Er'kanii!"

"Can the Skiffs?"

"Eia, but... they reveal themselves. We be discovered. Kiphoris and _Ikha Riis_ be lost."

Nyreks pointed past them.

The Hive had reached the largest of the Er'kanii. No blood was spilt. Neither side came to blows. The Wizard turned her attention to them, momentarily, and hissed loudly. The lead Er'kanii hissed back. Formora was left under the impression that they were speaking somehow.

The Wizard motioned behind her. The pack of three-eyed predators parted. A Cabal soldier stepped forth. Its helmet was gone, leaving its brutish face bare. The Uluru's face wasn't like those of the Eliksni, or Er'kanii, or Hive. It was remarkably similar to her own, considering from whence it came, but the differences were still vast. Its grey skin was thick and leathery and utterly hairless. Its two eyes - complete with pupils and irises - were in line with its nostrils. It had no nose, no visible ears, and barely any chin. Its limbs were like tree trunks, and it had a massive body fitted into a colourful suit of snug body armour.

It walked forth to listlessly stand between the Wizard and the Er'kanii pack leader and stare away into space. The alpha Er'kanii pounced. The Uluru didn't cry out as the beast's massive jaws closed over its head and crunched.

Formora winced and sucked in a deep breath. She looked away as the Er'kanii began to eat. At the Wizard. Who looked back. Its three eyes were burning stars, utterly baleful and nothing else. The skull around them was skeletal. It looked dead, but the way it swayed in the air told her otherwise. Its jaws clacked uncontrollably.

It raised a bony finger and pointed. The Knight turned and started marching forth. Towards them.

"They have decided for us," Formora muttered darkly. "Signal the Skiffs, now!"

Nyreks pulled out a pistol and shot it into the air. Whatever had been fired from the gun lit up the entire valley in a bright orange flash. A wild cry came from the Er'kanii gathered by the treeline - surprise mixed with trepidation.

Formora dropped her concealing spell and took aim. Their cover was blown and the Hive were surging - any chance of evading discovery was long gone.

**000**

If he kept moving, he'd be fine. If he kept fighting, he'd be fine. If he kept his grip on his new sword, he'd be fine.

He was far from fine. Fine insinuated a level of control over the situation. Ikharos controlled nothing beyond his own body. He couldn't even control how quickly his Light expended itself. Solar was the first to go; it loved to burn and roar and dance. It was useful where Hive were concerned, with them being as flammable as they were. Like living, moving, biting firewood. Firewood with eyes. Not the normal two eyes, or semi-normal four eyes. Three eyes. Or five. Or none at all.

He was on the verge of panicking. His grip on Arc was the only thing keeping him at the surface. It was angrier than Solar. More volatile. Solar could heal just as well as it could hurt, but Arc? Arc just wanted to destroy, to run wild, to break free. Arc's struggle to break out was familiar. One he'd lived with all his lives. It paired well with his rage, with his anger, with his need to hit back. He used to be quite the Stormdancer.

But, like all things, Arc ended. The miniature storms he summoned could only keep back the horde for so long, and wounded as they were, they rushed in when it faltered.

Which left... nothing but the Void. Which was, in itself, nothing.

Ikharos knew how to use it. It was beyond despair. Beyond grief. Beyond fear. It was emptiness. Seeing the bodies fallen on the wayside, so many years ago, helped him find it within himself. A gaping abyss where no feeling, no ambition, no _humanity_ could ever persist.

The Void was where aspirations went to die. It wasn't Light, even if the Light led him to it. It wasn't the Dark, for though the Dark destroyed it always wanted something to continue on. The Void was neither, and yet both had a hand in it. It was not the passion of fire, nor the rage of storms. It was the endless hunger of that gap between realities. Jaws leading to a bottomless stomach.

At least he had a sword to go with it. Having something between him and the murderous masses was nothing short of a relief. Even if it was a wicked Hive blade.

He needed to learn how to stop breaking his weapons. Especially his swords. It was fast becoming a habit and not one he wanted to keep.

" _Eyes front_ ," Xiān chided. As if he needed any convincing.

The Hive had driven him back. Not to the medical wing, but into the side of a dead Thresher. They'd effectively cornered him and eagerly pressed at him from all angles. It wasn't possible to keep them back. All he could do was kill those who got too close and pray he'd find a way out before the mounds of bodies drowned his Light.

The cleaver was good for that, in any case. If the throng of Thrall limbs threatened to trip him, all he needed to do was give it all a few swipes. There was nothing that could resist the blade's keen edge.

Nothing but an equally sharp blade.

The Thresher tilted and, without warning, was effortlessly tossed aside. The wave of hungry Thrall hesitated: their father or uncle or whoever the Darkblade was to them had stepped in to take its dues. And they would be foolish to get in its way.

"Skyyyyborn," the Darkblade throatily growled. "Death-clad. Life-broken. Tongue of trickery. Eater of gifts."

"Shut up!" Ikharos brought his stolen sword up. There was no flourish in his strike, only rage. He _hated_ it. Hated them all. There was no end to his abhorrence for their twisted kind.

And no end of them in sight.

He knew, deep down, that the hate was the wrong thing to focus on. It brought to the surface a power he'd already spent, rather than the one he needed.

The Darkblade caught the blow on his bone bracer. Chitin crunched and flesh parted. The pain did nothing; Ikharos swore there was something close to pleasure in the green gash running down the centre of the Darkblade's helm. A flicker of something other than hunger. Something delightful.

The axe came around. Ikharso Blinked away, taking his cleaver with him. The Darkblade didn't care. It trudged after him, in no hurry at all.

"Yessssssss." If it had a mouth behind its helmet, then Ikharos imagined it was smirking. Could Hive smirk? "Fight me. Battle me. Hurt me. WORSHIP ME!"

Ikharos cursed. Realization fell on him like a hammer made of ice. " _It's one of Hers. War's pawns._ "

Xiān yammered something. He couldn't hear past the din of chanting. Of prayer. The Hive, all of them, were practically screaming with approval. It wasn't just battle to them: it was faith. It was myth. It was all they were born to do - to snuff out the Light and bring about an endless Dark.

Fear and anger. More and more. It was all he felt. A need to kill and a need to get out. He'd fail at both if he couldn't find the Void. And the Hive were unknowingly keeping him from it with every shouted verse of their endless mantras.

So he fell back on what he had left. Lesser magics and a general understanding of where he was. He needed them to bide his time and-

Thrall ran. For him. Ikharos focused the Void in his offhand and loosed it. The vortex of antimatter voraciously ate the Hive hatchlings up. But not the Darkblade, who stalked on the edge of his vision and waited for the opportunity to strike.

It was pissing him off. For a creature of war, the Darkblade was so hesitant to commit to a fight. It was a shark, testing his defenses with little nips, ever circling. It was waiting for him to die. He saw its purpose and his anger faded, because how could one be angry with something so small-minded?

"To hell with it." Ikharos pulled on the Void - not as a veil, nor as a blade, but in its most potent form. It washed over him like a torrent of absences. It scourged the fear from him, the hate, the desperation, the hurt. All of it was wiped away. The Void pulsed and thrummed and hummed and whined. He couldn't breathe; it was around him, banishing the very air. He didn't need it. It was in his blood, in his bones, in his mind.

Those foolish enough to press him died. Whips of nothing and tendrils of negation ripped through chitin and bone. No wards could protect them.

Ikharos singled out the Darkblade. It stood in place, axe held before it, and it waited for him. He didn't disappoint. With a flicker of three consecutive Blinks, he was before it and forcing the attack. His cleaver swept to and fro, clad in infinite unrealities and propelled by a need to bite.

The Darkblade put up a fair defense. No, more than fair. Exemplary. It was fast and clever but ultimately unprepared for the sheer presence of the Void. Its armour cracked and burned. The glow in the centre of its helmet flashed with alarm. It wasn't readied for this. It didn't know how to fight him. It had no reason to.

Its children rushed to save it. Dutiful to the end, they marched straight into the concentrated singularity surrounding Ikharos and were summarily torn apart by black-indigo flames and inescapable gravities.

The Darkblade raged at the sight of his dying spawn. Darkness fell upon them; a mist of gloom so thick that even the eyes of all the other Hive couldn't pierce through it. It was only the two of them in the centre of the maelstrom, enacting an age-old duel. Axe swings pummeled the Void wards guarding Ikharos. Some broke through. None killed.

They exchanged blow after blow, rendering one another weakened and bloodied. Ikharos was faster. He Blinked so rapidly that he wouldn't have known where he was if not for the glow of the Darkblade's eye drawing him in. There was nary a mark upon him, aside from a handful of shallow scratches scored into his skin. He bled, he hurt, but he did not falter. The axe's edge may have burned with a treacherous energies, yet he did not collapse.

His Light flared. It swam beneath his skin, suffusing him with godly power. He didn't need much, but he used it all regardless. The Void only required a beckoning call. So he called it all.

The feathers upon his bracers twitched with potency. Power ran through them and out of the blunted claws. Death was dealt - though the Darkblade refused to die. It thundered through his efforts and trampled his grim aspirations. Armour broke from its body and flesh hung in burning strips, but it fought on.

Even when Ikharos brought it to its knees and shattered the spells it sent forth, it fought on to the very end.

An end stolen from it.

Ikharos didn't know he'd been shot until he tried moving his arm and realized there was a hole in his shoulder. Bone and tissue crystallized around the grisly wound - it was Voidburn. A perfect cylindrical hole. A perfect round. A perfect shot.

His gaze drifted to the shooter, on the other side of the hanger. An Acolyte, but larger than was the norm and crowned with heavy horns not dissimilar to the Broodqueens. It held a soulfire rifle rippling in preparation for another shot.

Ikharos seethed. He Blinked aside as the overgrown sniper fired. A Knight jumped him - he ducked under its blow, grabbed it by the throat, and pulled its life out to replenish his grasp over the Void. The warrior morph disintegrated and fell away. Satisfied, Ikharos lobbed an Axion bolt towards the offending Adherent.

A colossal hand grabbed the Void missile out of the air and allowed it to burn through its palm. Up rose yet another monstrosity, and it was easily the most gargantuan abomination present. It wore heavy armour of bone and chitin, but warped flesh bloated between the plating. A single glowing eye glared out from its massive head, which was attached to a crooked spine and grotesque torso. It resembled a failed attempt at an Ogre someone had tried to hide away beneath a suit of Knight armour.

It was Phogoth-sized, give or take a couple of feet. And it didn't look pleased to see him.

" _We need to get out, NOW!_ " Xiān screamed. " _Ikharos, Warp us out of here! Ikharos!_ "

He couldn't. Not with the Broodqueen still alive. His eyes sought her out and found her just where she'd been floating when the violence began. Her and her Echo.

Ikharos dragged the Void closer. It turned into fangs around him, adorning the violet haze that wreathed his figure. " _If she doesn't die tonight, we'll never be able to stop them._ "

" _We can't fight this many- MOVE!_ "

An axe - that damn _axe_ \- planted where he'd been standing a split second before. Ikharos glared at the Darkblade. The _gall_ of the creature! The Void laced around him and sharpened its tendrils like a scorpion preparing to sting. And he would have stung, if not for the half-Ogre opening its eye. Malevolent energy surged forth and sheared through the hanger floor. The beam swept towards him, cutting and melting whatever caught in its path.

He Blinked aside. Right into the fiery scream bursting from the dual Broodqueen's throats. His armour was left seared and where it had been torn away his skin was burnt black. Ikharos choked on the smoke filling his helmet and briefly cocooned himself in a burst of purple to catch his breath. A soulfire round burst through his Void-shell and shattered his focus, leaving him bared to their sight.

The Darkblade lurched to its feet and hefted its weapon. The half-Ogre loomed behind him, and beside it marched the oversized Adherent. The Broodqueens flew above, more spells readied behind clenched teeth. And all around them - and him - waited a hungry horde.

He almost formed the Void into a Warp. Ikharos almost gave in. But he couldn't. Not with-

The hanger, and the entire carrier around them, shook. A shriek of metal on metal filled the chamber. It came from... Ikharos didn't know anymore. But not the way he'd come in.

Light, blessed light, cut through the dark. It was a stunning yellow and orange melting through the far wall like divine thermite. The nearest Hive - from what he could see of their eyes - raced closer. Those who ventured too near were crushed when a segment of wall was pushed in.

Something stepped in. It was big. Darkblade big. Silver-skinned, as if formed from liquid metal. And it boasted cranial horns cresting on either side of its featureless alien skull. A gem of some kind was affixed to the centre of its mouthless, earless, noseless, and eyeless face. A glaive was clasped in one of its four-fingered hands. The blade at the end of it glowed with unnatural brightness.

A lean strength lay beneath its strange metallic covering, but the musculature was all wrong. The bone structure too. Though it stood on two legs, it was as far from human as anything could get. Its shoulders were so sharp they were almost blades. Its legs were digitigrade, and lacked toes and claws. Its elbows were pointed, far beyond the joint, and were held close to the body as if the arms were fragile wings rather than grasping limbs.

Another creature climbed in after it. It didn't seem to care about touching the molten metal left in the wake of the first. And a third waited behind it.

Ikharos gave a start. He'd seen it before. He'd seen something like them before. In a city devoid of colour. He remembered the sheen of their strange exoskeleton. The broadness of their horns. The eerie glow of the crystals affixed to the front of their skulls.

Except the one he'd seen was much larger.

The temperature dropped. Ikharos was almost positive it wasn't just him. The nausea building in his skull rose up to almost painful levels. He unconsciously made his Light signature smaller, as if to hide away from the ocean of Dark all around him.

The chanting had stopped. The Hive shrieked and roared, but their leaders did nothing. The Darkblade slowly looked between Ikharos and the newcomers with obvious indecisiveness, and Ikharos could almost see the gears turning in the monster's head.

The shadow Broodqueen hissed in Ikharos's direction. But the half-Ogre bellowed at the intruders instead. The Adherent took aim at the first creature, who in turn raised its glaive.

White-hot energy shot from the blade. The plasma jet killed dozens and the half-Ogre fell aside, roaring and batting at the burning chunk taken out of its midriff.

All hell broke loose. Ikharos could scarcely track what happened next - either it was too dark or too bright, and he couldn't hear a thing past all the incessant screeching. Hive clashed against the silver-skinned warriors, that much he knew, but whether the battle was going in their favour or not was beyond his ability to tell.

What he did know was that the Broodqueens were fleeing. Both of them. They flew in the opposite direction of the silver warriors, likely to lose themselves in the carrier's labyrinth of corridors and tunnels.

It was perfect. The exact break he needed.

Until another glaive-beam crashed past him and caught the edge of the shadow Broodqueen. She convulsed, twisted around to deliver a scathing spell, and caught sight of him. Her five eyes cut right through him. She shot after her still living twin, screaming at the top of her lungs.

Thrall pounced. Acolytes opened fire. Knights charged. In response, Ikharos pulled the Void into his hands and let himself give in to an unmodified Nova Warp. Abyssal energies enwreathed him with reformed wards and devoured any foolish enough to get close. Shredder-fire cracked upon his shields with no effect. Not a single cleaver reached him.

His Light-turned-Void pulsed out. Hive died. He carved a path through those who moved to protect their coven leader and raced after the dual queens. They had taken a path through a ruptured service tunnel and left it ringed in Void teeth. It looked like the maw of a giant cosmic lamprey.

That was problematic. He didn't fancy dying to oversized caltrops.

" _Can we track them?_ " He pressed.

" _Track them? Are you insane?! How am I supposed to-_ "

" _She's still bleeding, right?_ "

" _... Well you did cut off her arm_ ," Xiān said dubiously. " _Argh! Fine, HURRY!_ "

Ikharos hurried. Removing the Void spikes was next to impossible, but he didn't need to. He diverged the tapering end of his Nova Warp to form a single lengthy Blink past the obstacles and landed on his feet. He broke out into a run.

Thrall jumped after him and caught themselves on the spikes left by their mother. There was an irony he could savour.

**000**

Eliksni did not fight as elves did. Formora had been aware of that since Ceunon. They did not war like humans or dwarves either. Neither did Hive or Er'kanii for that matter. Different peoples perfected different ways to wage war.

But the way the Eliksni fought was so ruthless that she was left stunned for a moment too long. The instant Nyreks signaled them, the Skiffs dove out of the air like massive birds of prey and opened fire. Spikes of Arc flew from them and into the treeline, eliciting cries and roars. The Er'kanii initially tried to fight back, but when they started to sustain losses their order broke and they fled. Not even the roars of their leader could keep them in place. Eventually, the pack master disappeared too.

The Hive, though, were of a different mindset. Melkris had taken out three of them by his lonesome, and they didn't care. Not for the Arc rounds that burrowed into their bodies. Not for the losses they took. Pain did not stop them. Death did not stop them. They were fearless, in the truest sense of the word.

It unnerved her. Perhaps even frightened. What savage sort of beginnings could produce killers without fear? Without trepidation of any sort?

The Knight led the charge. It was the bravest of them all - and the most resilient. Its armour blackened with soot and cracked under pressure, but it did not slow.

Formora fired upon it herself, and to little effect. Nothing could stop it.

An Eliksni leapt forth on nimble legs and shot forth with two buzzing blades. The Knight met it, shattered the weapons without issue, and crushed the Eliksni's head in its fist. Ether - white and frosty - shot from the dead Eliksni's neck in a vague silhouette of its own body.

The Knight kicked the still-twitching body aside and resumed its stampede.

" _Vëoth älfrs bennar_ ," Formora heard herself whisper. _Slow his legs_. The spell took effect for all of five seconds, and the change was nigh on unnoticeable. Her spell shattered upon the Knight's incredible strength - but it wasn't just that. It was like trying to fight a Ra'zac or Lethrblaka, both of which were immune to direct appliances of magic.

What was worse was the Hive's ability to sense magic. The Knight's three eyes found her. It _knew_ what she had tried to do. And it hungered for her soul.

Melkris tossed something at it. The cylindrical object erupted and showered the Knight in Arc. It didn't care. It was close enough to smell blood and eager to draw some itself. Formora haphazardly tossed her rifle aside and drew Vaeta. She rapidly retreated, but it was useless - the Knight was already bearing down on her with its sword held high.

When it brought its weapon down, she stepped aside. Formora refrained from attacking, focusing instead on avoiding its strikes and trying to identify any chink in its armour. The Knight almost made her regret it - goodness, it was fast. More than that, it was strong. It threw itself wholly into each attack and expended the entirety of its focus on the act of killing.

As she moved around it, as fast as she could to avoid being struck by its massive weapon, Formora found herself growing a grim respect for the dark creature. Everything about it was designed to kill. Its claws were blunted, it breathed no fire, it had no wings, and it cast no spells, but it was still the perfect killer. It devoted itself entirely to its barbaric swordcraft. It was simple. Dangerously so.

But it left the Knight open. For while it was in itself a deadly blade, it was ultimately fragile. All one needed to do was find a way past the initial bite and shatter its spine.

An ambitious horizontal swipe came for her. Formora ducked below and circled the Knight. It continued, attempting to cut her down with a flurry of wild blows. She kept moving, never stopping, and struggled to put some distance between herself and her opponent. She summoned up another spell and breathed out, " _Efla du deloi durna_."

The ground below the Knight's heavy feet muddied and lost all cohesion. The Hive creature slipped and struggled to keep its balance, and she darted in to plant Vaeta in its side. Her sabre sunk in up to the hilt. Blackish-green blood dribbled from the entry point.

The Knight jerked and tried to swat her aside. Formora grimaced and fell back, taking Vaeta with her. The mortal blow wasn't quite as 'mortal' as she had hoped. She had aimed for its stomach, and its Worm, as she had been advised, but she fell upon the realization that perhaps its stomach wasn't in the same place as it was for a human or elf.

The Knight forced her back. It bled fiercely and fought fiercer. It didn't appear fazed in the slightest, only enraged that she would dare strike it.

Just like its kin, it did not fear pain. It didn't fear anything. Not her. And certainly not her magic.

Melkris scrambled in to join their duel. Formora felt the beginnings of a warning - "Get away!" or "No, back!" - forming on her lips, but the sharpshooter was already close to the Knight and swinging his four knives. It was beautiful to behold. An Eliksni beauty: formed of centuries-forged skill and effortless speed and a sly intelligence. Melkris did not make the same mistake as the other Vandal, because he saw all with his four bright eyes and didn't let a single thing slip by him. He was always aware of where the Knight was, where its sword was, what it was doing, and he worked on that.

His knives left shallow marks and scars. It was not enough to kill, not even enough to strike blood, but it drew the Knight's dangerous attention.

Formora moved in for the kill. Its flank was exposed and she could-

The Knight finally caught Melkris and swatted him aside. Almost simultaneously, it whipped around and caught her with its elbow, knocking her to the ground. Formora rolled, and the foot that would have surely crushed her ribcage merely stomped on bare earth, but its sword was raised and she didn't have time to get out of the way.

" _Skölir_!" She cried out. The blade bounced off the hastily erected ward. Formora knew she couldn't stand another strike. The first had already sapped her of her strength; her limbs felt leaden and her lungs burned for air. She couldn't get up, because that would take a precious half-second and the Knight was far too fast. She tried to scramble away, but its blade was already falling to claim her head.

Melkris leapt onto its back, jostling the Hive monster, and Formora moved just enough to avoid its off-kilter attack. The Knight snarled gutturally and tried to both cut her down and shake the Eliksni shockshooter, but the opening was all she needed to find her footing and get close.

Close enough to drive Vaeta up under the Knight's chin.

It jerked, again, but this was a death thro. The beast's three eyes winked in unison once, twice, and burned out altogether.

Melkris let go. The Knight stumbled. Formora ripped Vaeta away with a shower of alien dust for her efforts. The nightmarish warrior stumbled and collapsed, dead. She stared at it, lungs heaving, and half-expected the monster to get back up.

A scream tore her attention, and next she knew stinging claws had wrapped around her throat and snatched her from the ground. Another three eyes glared at her, full of malice, and below them a skeletal mouth shrieked so loudly that a blinding pain manifested in her ears.

The claws pressed closer. Formora struggled for breath and tried to stab the Wizard, but Vaeta was gone, gone, gone. A burning, rotting stench filled her mouth and nose, and she would have coughed it away but for the lack of air reaching her lungs.

It ended just as suddenly as it began, and the Wizard fell away. Formora dropped onto blessedly cool grass and sucked in lungfuls of sweet, sweet air. A new smell was around - burning again, but more intense. She looked up. The Wizard floated in the air, staring uncomprehendingly at the bright blade protruding from its sternum. A glittering hand of pure silver settled on its shoulder and tore the weapon back out. The Wizard fell aside and didn't get back up.

In its place stood an immeasurably large creature the colour of steel. Formora stumbled back; she knew what it was.

It, too, seemed to recognize her to some extent. The creature tilted its horned head and said, " _Aí litil älfa verrunsmalí thorna sem jierda allr söngr_ _._ " ( _The little elf fights those who break all song._ )

There was no mouth on its head to utter the words. Nor did it communicate with its mind. Rather, the voice of the creature seemed to emanate from all its body at once. It echoed and echoed, even if there were no surfaces to bounce off, and it sounded like nothing she had ever heard before. It was a high-pitch and low rumble all at once - genderless, emotionless, and guiltless.

Formora gave a start. It spoke the ancient language more fluently than she'd ever heard before. Gone was the battle, and the Hive, and the Er'kanii. At that moment, only the creature standing over her mattered. And she knew what it was.

" _Eru ono du Eyddrkyn_?" ( _Are you of the empty-kind?_ )

The creature made a keening sound, like metal scratching on metal. It took her some time to realize it was laughing. " _Né. Vae eru abr mor'ranr. Vae eru du adurna. Vae eru du söngr._ " ( _No. We are the peace. We are the water. We are the song._ ) Its keening faded to a low whistle. " _Vae eru du dautar un sönnar abr Nezarec Könungr, du söngr-daéda. Lang atra älfr gala_ _._ " ( _We are the daughters and sons of Nezarec, the Song-Lord. Long may He sing._ )

What remaining reservations she held disappeared. Formora first felt terror, but then anger muscled its way into her heart. A desire for vengeance. So, as scathingly as she dared, she snapped, "You are a wretch. A murderer and a brute, following an even more wretched excuse for divinity. _Ono eru daeamr_." ( _You are evil._ )

The living, breathing Grey Folk fell silent. It leaned forward, as if to get a closer look - even if it had no eyes. "Ahhhh…. _Ono tauthr eld domia dauthné_. _Du sönna abr du Söngrfell_. _Du Himmenburthro_. _Thornessa älfa eld fellr vér wyrda_." ( _You follow the dominator of the avoidance of mortality. The son of the Song-Traitor. The Sky-born. This elf betrays its fate._ )

Formora stood. Her hands were empty, and her energy reserves precariously low, but she could no more stay silent than she could fly. Her anger was a twisting knot in her stomach, and it burned for release. " _Älf er iet wyrda eom faedhír onr. Älf er iet wyrda eom vergarí Nezarec. Eka weohnata taune iet efthaina_ _._ " ( _It is my fate to fight you. It is my fate to kill Nezarec. I will take my revenge._ )

The silver warrior made a sound like a colossal tree cracking beneath a hurricane. " _Thenaer onr wyrda weohnata waíse endiro_ _._ " ( _Then your fate will be ended._ )

The Grey Folk hefted its spear. Formora hastily stepped back, realizing her error. A part of her roared to fight, but the rest instinctively knew she was at a huge disadvantage - the warrior was almost as tall as the nearby trees.

Arc rounds hit it in the centre of its massive chest. They were both the work of lazy shock rifle darts and wire rifle lasers. It had no effect besides stealing the Harmony's attention. It turned its head a mere fraction and regarded the offending Eliksni coolly. Melkris loudly snarled back.

"Die, big-horn!" He snarled in Low Speak. "Or I make you a chair!"

Something had surely gotten lost in translation.

The silver warrior whistled sharply. " _Du Élarksa faedhír edtha_? _Thenaer älf weohnata deyja medh du älfa_." ( _The Eliksni fights me? Then it shall die with with the elf._ )

Another keening split the air. The silver warrior turned almost leisurely. Another of its kind waded through the smaller Hive, cutting them apart with effortless swings of its spear. It reached the Ahamkara corpse and tossed it over one shoulder. " _Nosu eru kláraí hérna_. _Eitha medh edtha_ , _aegór eld galasön_." ( _We are finished here. Leave with me, sea-singer._ )

The closer Harmony gave Formora one last lingering look. " _Eka kenna onr_. _Eka weohnata manin onr_." ( _I know you. I will remember you._ )

It marched away and shrugged off the Arc coursing through it. It was a fantastical giant, and it moved with a sleek alien grace that did not befit a creature of mortal design. Formora glared at its retreating form. Melkris ran to her with Vaeta in hand, but she never took her eyes off the two Strife-servants. Oh, how she hated it. How she hated _them_. Just as much as she did the Hive and Er'kanii. More, even. For all they'd intentionally and inadvertently done.

It was a night full of hatreds.

**000**

Much of the carrier had been left powerless in the aftermath of the crash and the Hive infestation. The route taken by the Broodqueens was plunged into complete darkness. Ikharos activated a light on his helmet, but the gloom had the eerie resilience of paracausality to it and it fought against his efforts. They didn't want him to see a thing.

Thus, he turned to his Light and operated solely on tracking his targets through the artificial labyrinth by the traces of Dark and magic they bled out. And it was his Light that alerted him to the presence of others in the dark. Not close, but not far either. And they were heading in the same direction he was. They too were hunting.

Somehow, he didn't feel he and they were on amicable terms.

Corridor after corridor flashed by. Ikharos' body screamed for relief, but he couldn't stop. There wouldn't be a better chance to cripple the Hive again. He had one job - and only two targets - to see through. He vowed to get it done. Nothing could stop him.

Nothing but a locked Cabal door.

"Yeah yeah, gimme a second." Xiān flew to a nearby console and started zapping. "You do know this is another trap?"

"Sure." Ikharos bobbed his head and tightened his grip around the cleaver.

"Not a smart one, this Witch. This is blatant."

"If Cabal are all she's had to fight, can you blame her?"

"Right." The doors creaked. "Kill her quick."

Xiān dematerialized.

The room beyond could have been an armoury, but more likely it was just some room for antsy Cabal to hit stuff around. He knew the queens were in there. Waiting for him. He could feel them. He could smell their putrid breath, their scorching voices, their rotting bloo-

Movement. An attack. Somewhere from the left, but he couldn't tell where. Ikharos lit up the room in Voidfire. A Nova Bomb sailed above, fat with insatiability, and turned the scene cataclysmic. Violet was everywhere. The orb shattered. It sought out prey. The queens both screamed fiery wards up to protect themselves.

Ikharos sucked in a breath. One voice was weaker than the other. More shrill. He went for that one. Five real eyes glared at him past a silhouette clasped in craving energies. Her wards cracked. All it took was a shove of pure Light to smash them apart entirely.

She reared up - deathlike, furious, desperate. Daggers of Dark flew from her palms. His own shields held, and when they didn't he tore through the fabric of space to get out of the way. The entire room was alight in liquid amethyst.

Her twin tried to help. He tossed down a Voidwall to keep her back. She didn't matter. A mere Echo. Not flesh and blood like the real thing.

The real thing he put to the sword. She was a wielder of terrible magics, but no duelist. Her battles were fought in comfort at the back of a horde. She challenged others through puppets and pawns. There was no horde to hide behind. No minions to enact her will. Just the two of them, depleted of Light and Dark respectively through exhaustion and injury.

Ikharos didn't give her a chance to recover her wards. He struck and savaged with his blades, and forced her to the ground through sheer will. A Blink brought him up, and gravity forced him down.

A five-eyed head hit the floor with a wet smack.

The Echo screamed with horror as if he'd killed her favourite child. She spat out a curse in her alien tongue and fled - gone for better grounds, he supposed. It didn't matter. She was a shadow thing, incapable of birthing anything. The primary spawner was dead, and that was all he cared about.

Xiān plucked the head without a word. Proof of the deed. Barons always liked that. Maybe they'd get a toss of Glimmer for their efforts. Traveler knew they needed it.

The unnatural gloom fled - banished by the Witch's death. Dim light from flickering bulbs danced in the air, not quite sure if it was doing a good job. But it was enough for him.

And enough for the woman leaning in the doorway.

"You got her?"

Ikharos straightened, blooded cleaver in hand. Xiān disappeared. "Who-"

She pushed away from the doorframe. She was large. Musclebound, with a suit of high-quality plate around her. The pauldrons were approaching ridiculous sizes. Her helmet boasted a polarized visor. There was a shotgun clipped to her back. "She's a big one... Nice work."

Titan.

Guardian.

Lightbearer.

"Kelf." His tone was hopeful and giddy all at once. Ikharos smiled and undid the clasps on his helmet. He let it drop to the floor, forgotten.

The Titan paused, cocked her head to the side, and shrugged. "I prefer Elkhon."

"El..." Ikharos frowned. Something was wrong. "I thought your name was... Kelf? You came here with Gunther, right?"

"Once upon a time ago, yes."

"So what's the reason for you to-"

She removed her own helmet. Her eyes were pools of black in the sparse lighting, but when it reflected off the short wires of her hair...

"No." Ikharos raised his cleaver. His blood turned to ice. "Hezran's notes said-"

"Hezran-4? That old machine?" The Titan grinned. He caught a glimpse of teeth filed to points. "He didn't know half of what he thought he did."

"It's impossible!" Ikharos refuted. He could still feel her Light, hidden as it was.

She took a confident step forward. "There's a little Darkness in all of us." She proffered to him an outstretched hand, covered in a protective glove. "Come with me. Please."

He shook his head. Her face fell.

"Oh well," she lamented in a bored voice, "I tried."

She shot forward. Ikharos wasn't prepared. Not really. The Hive cleaver was a heavy weapon, perfect for lopping limbs and staving back large foes. The Titan was a big woman, as per the norm, but she was human. And when compared to his usual foes, humans weren't that large. She slipped past his meagre defense and set into him with fists like sledgehammers.

Ikharos' body moved of its own accord. The primal instinct to ' _just get the fuck away_ ' was strong. He already knew from the onset that it was going to a hard, painful fight. Because she was Risen. Not Cabal or Eliksni or even Hive. As dangerous as all those were, his own kind were worse.

Humans were smaller. Weaker. Slower. Even with the Light and all that it entailed, they were put at a distinct disadvantage. The only thing they really had going for them was the ability to come back from death. And the capacity to learn. How to get faster. Tougher. Stronger. Meaner.

He reckoned a millennia-old Titan must have learned quite a few things. Maybe more than him.

The cleaver was gone; she slapped it out of his hands. His shields didn't last at all, and when they broke it was his ribs turn to break. Ikharos fought back as best as he was able to, and with a flourishing kick, she was on the floor. A pity she had to grab his collar on the way down. His forehead bounced off her nose. Nose cracked. Forehead bruised. It gave him a splitting headache.

They rolled across the floor, trying their damnedest to put the other in some sort of lock. A chokehold didn't seem right for what she was, so he went for breaking her arms just to stop her pulverizing further organs. One of his lungs had already collapsed - he needed the other, for however long he had left. He managed to twist his opponent's leg, eliciting a spittle-filled snarl. By some miracle he managed to crack her knee but at the cost of a couple more ribs.

It became apparent they were on almost even ground. She was older, but not as well-versed in Risen killing as he was. All those crucible matches finally came in handy. If Shaxx were there, Ikharos could have kissed him.

Be that as it was, Kelf/Elkhon was by no means new to it, and she pressed him for all his worth.

"One way or another," she growled in his ear, "we'll reach that little spark in you!"

He had no idea what she meant. Ikharos didn't care to find out. Besides, her shoulder looked oh so breakable. So he broke it, with an open palm filled with what dregs of power he had left. He managed to draw his knife between them, but she got hold of it too and the fight devolved into a struggle for the weapon.

A few shallow slashes pierced through the front of his robes and dragged across his chest. Ikharos wheezed desperately. His mouth was full of blood. Death was just around the corner, but if he brought her down with him, he might stand a chance.

She shattered his arm, but only managed to do so by taking one hand off the knife. It was good and bad - but the result of it was solidly decided when they rolled into a wall and Ikharos ended up on top. He pushed all his weight onto the knife and aimed it into her chest. It pierced her cuirass without issue. Her eyes widened; he could finally see the red in them.

A small, quiet squelching sound marked the knife cutting through her. She redoubled her efforts and tried to push him off, but he was not to be denied. With one lost shove, Ikharos plunged the blade into her heart. She screamed and fell apart.

He hit the floor. Ikharos rolled onto his back and, with his remaining hand, finished himself off with a quick flick of his blade.

* * *

Xiān brought him back. A knee caught him in the jaw. The back of his head slammed off the wall. A fist drove into his stomach and banished the breath from his recently repaired lungs.

The Titan was back.

_But I stabbed her in the-_

She forced his head into the wall again. His fight-or-flight instincts settled in immediately. He thought around it, and with the edge of a mind dulled by pain, grabbed the Hive cleaver and pulled it closer.

He broke the Titan's hold on him and dove to the side as the Hive blade ran her through and pinned her to the wall.

She came apart as a fine shadowy mist for a second time around. And he was certain that the sword hit her heart this time around. He'd been aiming for it specifically.

Kelf/Elkhon returned right in front of him. She materialized out of nothing and charged in with her shoulder covered in Arc. He rolled out of the way, grabbed his dropped knife, and jumped back up into a defensive position.

She angrily blew air out of her nose like a pissed-off bull. Her hand went behind her back and procured a knife of her own. But something was off about it. It was clear and translucent, almost as if it wasn't made of metal at all. Like... the Shade's knife.

"Psekisk," was all he managed to say before she was on him. Her maneuvers were fast and well-aimed, and he was hard-pressed to defend himself. No, not even hard-pressed. It was utterly impossible to stop her from reaching him, and half a dozen cursed cuts were carved into his skin within mere moments. Ikharos winced with each and every blow. She was fast, yes, but it was her strength he couldn't handle. Every attack crashed through his defense and left him scrambling to pick up the pieces.

But he'd killed her twice already. Somewhere, in his mind, he believed he could do it again. The rest of him knew she'd come back - she'd done that twice as well.

So where was her damned Ghost?

" _GET OUT, NOW!_ " Xiān yelled into his skull.

For once, he did exactly as she said. Ikharos made as if to offer a counterattack, forcing Kelf/Elkhon to form a shield of raised bracers and angled blade... and he Blinked away, outside the room.

A moment passed. Then, a wordless roar and heavy, quick stomps. She was giving chase. And though she wasn't faster, she could keep up.

Ikharos darted through winding corridors, following Xiān's trembling guidance. The Titan was hot on his heels. With his Light diminished and Dark scars already forming, he didn't stand a chance. Even at full strength, even if he'd had years to prepare, he doubted it would go at all swimmingly.

" _DUCK!_ "

Ikharos shoved his head low. A purple discus sliced through the air above him and kept on going, right through wall and hull. It was too close for his liking, and only served to remind him that she was still fresh on killing power. His only saving grace was that Titans were too centred on close-ranged disciplines.

But, as he realized too late, Shades were not.

" _Jierda_!" ( _Break_.)

His legs snapped below him. Ikharos didn't so muchcry out as he hissed through clenched teeth. His tongue got caught between, and he tasted blood. Again. He hated the taste of it.

He flipped himself over, but the Titan was already there and-

And a cold, cold pain lanced up his spine as she drove her Dark-drenched knife into his belly. She straddled him and forced it deeper, with a glint of victory in her crimson eyes.

He couldn't breath. Couldn't draw on his Light, couldn't lift his own knife, couldn't do anything. He couldn't even speak. So he thought.

 _Burtu_. ( _Away_.)

For the third time, she was gone. Far away, this time. And she'd taken her knife with her. Ikharos clutched the gushing wound and curled in on himself.

A light shone in his eyes. "Get up! Ikharos, get up, now! Or I-I'll... IKE, GET UP!"

He couldn't summon a response. But he did try to do as she said. Ikharos slowly, and painfully, propped himself up against a wall.

"Stand! We need to get out of here!"

He could hardly think. Everything was so grey.

"Come on, please! It's not far! Literally down the hall, let's go!"

 _Promise?_ he mouthed.

"I promise! Get up!"

He got up. And hobbled his way down the hall, following her needlessly loud voice. His lifeblood dripped between his fingers; he couldn't keep it in. A pounding filled his eardrums. It was slow. And getting slower.

At least he didn't feel nauseous anymore.

* * *

He practically fell into Xiān's chosen room. It was a loading bay of some kind. He looked around. A railgun-esque thingy pointed out into the broiling night sky, already loaded with a circular metal platform.

Ikharos gave Xiān an incredulous look. But she wasn't taking any of it. "Just get on!"

He stumbled over and crawled onto it. She fiddled with the controls and, when it was all set, flew over and planted a new helmet on his head. "So you don't choke on oil," she explained.

A bubble of transparent liquid flowed up around him, and another layer of metal folded up around the bubble. There was a low whine from outside, and then...

Vertigo. His stomach was in his throat. Gravity was a forgotten memory. So was warmth, but that was probably because he got stabbed.

Ikharos didn't even last until the Ripper Pod hit solid ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Massive thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!


	53. Interlude: Dominion

Roran had tried to sleep, but his mind was awhirl with deep-rooted foreboding and agonized yearning. She was still out there. And he... was stuck in place. He couldn't leave, even if he saw fit to abandon all else in his search. The giants had ensured that.

They roused him at dusk.

A creature with a single Y-pupiled eye called both him and Horst outside with a soulless voice. Two giants flanked the creature. They both held shields almost as large as they were.

"You have been summoned," the one-eyed creature told them. It's eye flashed once. Roran held his breath. "You will leave your weapons behind."

He fingered the haft of his hammer. One of the giants rumbled. "Disarm, human, or I shall make you."

Horst gently took the hammer from Roran and handed it back to Baldor, who disappeared back inside. "Don't," the blacksmith warned.

Roran glared at the monsters and despaired.

He was helpless.

Hopeless.

Lost.

"Move, human."

And they were uncompromising.

* * *

The giants had picketed their camp by the edge of the Anora River. Everything about it defied belief. Huge metal objects lay scattered around. Giants regularly patrolled the perimeter with the odd one-eyed creature or a red hound. When they spoke, it was in a grunting language well beyond his ability to decipher.

They were foreign. They were conquerors. And they'd conquered Carvahall within hours, without a single death on either end. Roran couldn't imagine fighting them. They were beyond anyone's capacity to oppose. They were huge, immeasurably strong, and armed with fantastical magical weapons. Their hounds were vicious creatures more than capable of killing a man with a single bite, and the smaller soldiers were unnervingly alert.

When they'd taken Carvahall, it was the one-eyed creatures that went door to door and searched the houses. Some villagers spoke out, but none dared interrupt. Not with the giants watching. It was a relief to find that nothing had been taken.

Whatever they were searching for, it wasn't in Carvahall. Roran wondered if they were after the same thing as the Ra'zac.

His already foul mood darkened further. That damn stone.

When, at last, they arrived at the centre of the camp, he found that the giants had already erected a sturdy building formed from solid steel. More giants stood guard, and they were some of the largest he'd seen yet. They hefted larger weapons than all the rest and flouted banners from their backs. Their armour was coloured either blood red and bruise blue or a gentle cream with soft yellow.

The two by the door ushered him, Horst, and the one-eyed creature in.

There were others inside. Another two guards on the other side of the entryway. Birgit, Delwin, Ivor, Felda, and Loring were already inside, all stiffly standing and facing what had to be the largest of the one-eyed creatures in camp. It was taller than even the largest of the giants.

Its hairless head was bared to the room. Its single orange Y-pupiled eye was cradled in the palm of a black trident-shaped crease reaching from the top of its upper lip to the zenith of its skull. It had four nostrils just below its eye, but no nose. Its skin was deathly pallid. Black veins danced just beneath the surface.

It wore a pure white suit of armour gilded with glorious gold. A long swan-white cloak dragged from its shoulders. Both of its five-fingered hands were gloved in black.

It looked at each of them in turn, and finally settled on him. Roran could _feel_ its gaze. A tiny pressure built up at the base of his skull.

When it spoke in its echoing voice, he swore he could hear three voices speaking at once.

"I am Invoctol, Dominion's Triune. I am Primus-Emergent of Soulrazer and Worldbreaker. I am the mind of Freeborn Tlac, of Freeborn Cadon, of Freeborn Orche. I am God-Thought. I am your liege-lord."

Its single eye flashed a rainbow of colours. Suddenly Roran wasn't there. No, he was a giant encased in a turtle-shell of solid steel, cracking corpse-like wraiths beneath his feet. He was a slathering thing running through the woods, right behind a fleeing doe. He was a many-armed sailor, jutting his claws into a roaring oven. He was a gentle artist listening as thunder boomed and massive flaming birds tore through the clouds overhead.

He was an empty thing. He was hungry in the dark. Hungry. Hungry. Always hungry.

Then he saw himself. He saw a child who thought he knew the world. He saw a lost animal living in filth. He saw a peasant, a brute, a blind man who never considered himself unseeing. He saw loss, hurt, anger, joy, hate, and fear. He saw it all in himself.

Roran returned to his own body with a gasp. He shuddered and tried to retreat, but there were giants behind him and they barred his escape.

Invoctol's eye went back to orange. It didn't so much as twitch. "Your cousin damned you," it murmured, "for a shiny rock."

Roran's chest tightened with hurt and frustration.

"Your father died," Invoctol continued, "for a shiny rock."

His hands curled into fists and shook.

"Your beloved was taken," the Primus-Emergent whispered, "for a shiny rock." Invoctol leaned forward. "So much misery for a rock. So much pain for a rock. Meaningless misery. Senseless pain. I offer something more. I offer you everything. I offer you the outstretched hand of the Cabal Empire."

"What do you want?" Roran heatedly demanded.

"Your land. Your loyalty. Your familiarity with this world. And all the information you have to offer. Give this to me, and I will allow you all to continue to live as you see fit. I will grant you the peace you desire... but only if you offer me _everything_."

**000**

Invoctol dispassionately watched the humans filter out. Shu'av came in after them. Ceremonial wings of solid titanium stretched from his back. The weight was throwing him off, but a wide grin was set in his face.

That smile failed when he beheld his new Primus.

Invoctol extended a hand. "I am still the same, my friend."

"Three of the same." Shu'av shook his head. "It's just hard to come to terms with." But he stepped forth anyways and clapped Invoctol's pauldron with a meaty hand. "But it is you, isn't it? Or... you _s_."

Invoctol grinned. The terminology was so wrong, but from an Uluru it was so right. "A single 'you' will suffice."

Shu'av dipped his head. "Of course, brother."

They were both left surprised. Shu'av started laughing. Invoctol only smiled - it was ridiculous, but it was their new reality. A Primus and his Bond-Brother.

Cadon accepted it with a soldier's unfazed attitude. Orche chuckled with youthful amusement. And Tlac lamented the spot next to them. A place where an equal would stand tall.

No. Not equal. Someone they - he (Tlac) - adored. Someone in whom they saw the shred of divinity. Someone who deserved that divinity for his unwavering bravery and eternal vigilance.

_I miss him._

There was a hole in one of their three hearts. The other two kept it alive.

Shu'av jutted a thumb in the direction of the doorway. "Think they'll give in?"

"They have to." Invoctol swiped away their stray thoughts and activated the holotable's display. "The humans call this place Palancar Valley. We will hold here."

"What if the Hive follow?"

"We crush them with everything we have."

"But we don't _have_ everything." Shu'av's grin fell. "We left so much behind."

"The Magnus Vae is lost to us."

"But all we left inside it! Harvester, Threshers, Goliaths, Interceptors! More oil! The Amarx Amalz!"

"The Siege-Breaker?" Invoctol asked incredulously. "The Hive were crawling all over it. We don't have the numbers to seize it."

"Bomb them into dust and walk over their corpses! The Amarx can handle a thunder run!"

"So can the Hive. Direct assault is suicide. We hold our ground, regroup, and restrategize."

Shu'av groaned. "We need that oil. We've got too many wounded."

"Begin mining operations."

"It'll be loud. Hive could come running. Or the barbarians might. Maybe both at once."

"We have no choice." Invoctol let his resolve hang in the air as pure psionic energy. "I will _not_ fail the empire. The Hive will burn and we _will_ claim this world!"

Shu'av saluted. "I'll get the calves on it. Pups need something to do."

"Keep them busy. We need that oil."

**000**

Blood mixed with the surrounding mud. What rains pummeled them went some ways to clearing away the spreading red, but there was always more.

Her name was Xiān. She was a Ghost, born of the Traveler's sacrifice. And her Guardian was lying facedown in the muck, struck dead. His robes, once bright and elegant, were covered in Hive filth. There were rips across his skin left by the Darkblade that her Light couldn't banish, but those were shallow. Those were hardly worth any notice - he'd hate them when he woke up, but they weren't life-threatening.

She wished she could say the same for the knife-wound.

It had killed him already. She'd tried bringing him back, but he only just died again. Her Light wasn't enough. Xiān pulled at the little knot of spectral rot taking shape in his flesh. She could feel its tendrils scraping against his Light like slim little spiderlegs. She tried to keep it at bay, and it spread no further, but it wasn't WORKING! He wasn't healing. It was still here. Keeping him dead or dying.

So she waited. In the rain. Waited for her core to leach the ambient Light out of the air and summon enough power to try and bring him back.

He was dreaming. Not normal dreams. Death-dreams. She could feel it in that tiny little strand that made up their bond. She couldn't see what he was dreaming, nor how it affected him. Not while he was dead. It was in death that their connection stretched its thinnest, and she hated every moment of it.

She continued to wait. She continued to draw in Light, but it was rare, it was scared, and the air was so very cold.

_Nice one, Xiān. We're STILL in a DZ. Fat load of good that Ripper did us._

Finally, enough Light! She hovered over his head, opened up her shell, and shared all the strength just waiting within her core. The body below shuddered and turned around. Dull, cloudy, bloodshot eyes met her single fiery one. He wasn't grimacing. He was somewhere beyond the pain stage.

"Hey, hey, heyheyheyhey, Ikharos, look at me, keep looking at me, you need to put pressure on it..." But he'd already lost too much blood. He dragged one of his hands into sight and looked at it incredulously. It was lathered in red.

He died for a third time. Xiān found it altogether more difficult to keep the Dark at bay. It smelled death. It was coming for him.

Xiān got angry. It couldn't! It had no right! This was her Chosen! Her Guardian! She loosed a digital roar in the faint hopes that it would scare the Dark away, but it only attracted other predators.

She hid away as the rumble of a ship came to a stop overhead. When the Skiff broke stealth, she shamefully floated out of hiding and waited for the Eliksni to drop. And drop they did. Chittering and bright-eyed and nervous.

"Here!" She yelled. They looked her way. "We're over here! He needs help!"

The first to reach her was Melkris. He took one look at Ikharos and said, "He's dead."

"I can't heal him!"

The shockshooter wordlessly dragged Ikharos's prone form into his arms. Another Vandal rushed and helped carry her Guardian back to the waiting Skiff. Formora was there.

"Ican'tIcan'tIcan'tIcan't-!" Xiān yammered. Formora nodded grimly and rushed to Ikharos's side. Melkris wiped away the mud covering him. The wound was an ugly thing. Dark cracks reached through the surrounding flesh like malignant roots.

She tried bringing him back for a fourth time. He choked and stilled. Gone again.

"Nothing I do is working!"

Formora held up a hand. "We... we need a healer." She looked at Melkris. "We need to return to Du Weldenvarden."

"He won't last it to Ellesméra!" Xiān cried out. "I can't... I can't do anything!"

Melkris tried to shush her, but it wasn't working, she had to tell them, tell someone, tell something! He cupped her in gentle hands - she wriggled out and flew back to Ikharos. She was _failing_ him! She had one job and she was failing it!

His Light was fading. The Dark was eating it up. The knife was a self-replenishing Devourer round. She knew that now. Ontological. It was erasing his Light from existence.

Making room for the Dark to replace it.

She wouldn't let it. Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't.

"Cirrane," Formora announced. "We fly for Cirrane. It's closer. It's our best chance."

Couldn't. He couldn't be lost. Not to a knife. Not to a Shade. It was wrong. Unfitting. They were heroes, this was their story - it couldn't end like this! CouldntCouldntCouldnt!

* * *

They dropped into a village. They dropped _him_ on a clean, unused bed. She pulled away the robes and armour and biosuit - and the wounds were just there, bloody gashes in pale flesh. The knife wound was giving them a crimson grin.

Formora and another stood over him. They whispered until dawn. Whispered until noon. Whispered until night. Dead flesh warped and grew to close the wounds. The rot fought back. Xiān fought the rot.

She fought. They whispered. With fire, Formora destroyed the contaminated flesh. It wasn't enough - so Xiān finished it with one last defiant pulse.

Dark scattered. Not gone, but scattered. It would have to be enough.

His chest rose up. Fell down. Rose up. Fell down. But his eyes didn't open. He wasn't the only one who needed sleep. Xiān landed on the bedpost. Fomora gasped for breath. Sweat rolled down her neck, her arms.

"Thank you."

The elf looked over. Tired, but relieved. Her hand reached out. A finger brushed against one of Xiān's fins.

_You're welcome._

Formora left. Probably to find a bed. The other elf limped out too, but he promised to return with medicines and spells to "better his chances." Xiān just rotated herself around so she was facing Ikharos and...

went

to

sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: A little companion piece for the next chapter. Thanks to the tireless Nomad Blue for editing!


	54. Thanatonautics

_Islands everywhere. A sea to drown in. He drowned. Until he reached an island. It was a large island, complete with its own puzzling kingdom. A familiar stranger pulled him out._

_Their gaze was sweet poison. He would rather have drowned. He shoved them away and fell back into the dark depths._

* * *

He tried to gasp, but there was a hole in his belly. He tried crawling, but his fingers only managed to rake in wet mud. He tried to speak, but he could only choke on the liquid copper filling his mouth.

A burning light hovered above. Inhuman. Dear to the heart.

But the heart was beating slower... slower... slower...

Gone.

* * *

_He looked at his feet. Snow and rime caked his boots. He tried to shake it loose - no such luck. He knelt down and attempted to flick it off, but the moment his fingers touched the frost they too froze. The crystals ran up his hand, up his arm, up his shoulder, up his neck, and-_

* * *

Cold air flushed into his lungs. It made the numbness stemming from his abdomen all the more keenly felt.

The little circle of fire was still there. Still talking. But faster. Not that he could hear-

He slowly, painstakingly, brought his hand up before his eyes. It came away sticky and red. Warm too. Which was strange, because he felt so very cold.

And...

Gone.

* * *

_He was... somewhere high and there was nothing beneath his feet. He was in the sky. Thunder rolled in from every direction. Lightning flashed - from his hands._

_Down below, coiling around a mountain, was a lynx bound in scales. Antlers sprouted from behind its ears and reptilian osteoderms ran down its back._

_It looked at him. He looked at it. It was his opposite: a panther of the depths. And he: a watcher of the sky._

_He had to fight it. There was no choice in the matter. He HAD to. For no other reason than just because._

_Lightning fired from his hands/wings._

* * *

On his third rez, everything was so much colder. Everything was red, as if a crimson veil had fallen over his sight. The burning light wasn't alone. It was almost lost in all the blue stars dancing around it. And right there, amidst them all, was not a light but two unshining emeralds right over his head.

"-ros!"

His hands were by his side, but something was putting pressure on his stomach. A scorching sensation ran up his spine.

Gone.

* * *

_Lucidity. Unexpected and bountiful, and ultimately wrong for a dying vision._

_"This isn't how death works," Ikharos mused. He knew where he was and realized he was deeply disappointed to be back._

_He assumed... but it didn't matter what he assumed. His hopes were nothing compared to the vast thought-fields of the Dreaming Mind. Or her masters._

_Dûl Incaru smiled. He isn't sure how he figured that, but she was indeed smiling. She raised a teacup and saucer of dragonbone and drank of the vibrant poison within. It was the same scene he'd grown to know over two long years of cyclic slaughter and continuous reverie._

_Which he'd oh so recently quit. Not that the curse cared._

_Ikharos looked around. "Corrupted Glimmer again?"_

_"Nothing so primitive."_

_"Death? This is more than a mere dream."_

_"Beyond death. Try another."_

_"... Riven?" Ikharos sighed. "I'm never going to live that down."_

_"Only if you keep your life," Dûl Incaru said smugly. She had a voice so sharp his eardrums felt like they were being slowly raked by serrated claws. Her laughter killed stars._

_"I'm guessing the cycle's come and gone. How's Jaxson?"_

_"He split my skull with his axe."_

_"Good boy." Ikharos leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs, and afforded her the reproachful look he'd always reserved just for her. "Is this really you, or is this another one of her simulations?"_

_Dûl Incaru continued to smile._

_"I keep asking. You keep doing... this. So what is it? Medusa was a lie. The messages from Eris were a lie. Is this a lie too?"_

_"Do you miss her?"_

_The question was so out of the blue that Ikharos was left scrambling for a response. He didn't know why he bothered. She was the Enemy._

_But, Enemy though she was, he was still victim to silly mortal whims. "I, uh... No. I've gotten over it. I made a mistake and paid for it."_

_"Will you make that mistake again?" The Witch's smile fell. She passed on her empty cup to their server: a Taken Vandal._

_He wanted to say no. In the end, he shrugged. "I'm only human."_

_"You were." She leaned forward, all three eyes flashing bright. Too bright to look at directly. "Where are you?"_

* * *

Ikharos woke up slowly. He felt warm. His eyelids were heavy, but they wanted to open. Light glared through them. It was bright. There was something soft below him. Over and around him too.

That he was groggily waking up rather than shaking a fresh revival from his limbs was all the reason he needed to jolt up. Or tried to, in any case. His body was still asleep, and it wanted to _stay_ asleep dammit.

Ikharos' eyes opened, but his vision was blurred with sleep. He blinked rapidly to clear it away. He was... somewhere. Nowhere he recognized. Birds sang. A light breeze tickled his cheeks. The room was wooden, but not carved. Sung. Delicate leaves hung in the open windowsill to his left. The silk-soft sheets covering him were not of any material he recognized. He heard laughter. Children.

It was an elven forest outside. He was in an elf's house.

_How?_

A small weight slammed into his chest. He wasn't strong enough to resist. Ikharos went down and murmured a wordless greeting.

" _You..._ " Xiān began. She trailed off and dug her pinions into his skin. Her shell was extra pristine. The gold and emerald fins glittered in the midday light. Someone had cleaned her. Her orange eye burned accusingly. Ikharos dropped a hand on her and, ignoring her cries of outrage, dragged her under his chin. She was warm, almost painfully so, but he wouldn't trade it for the world.

" _Go on_ ," he muttered, " _say your piece._ "

" _Idiot._ " She pressed herself into the crook of his neck. It was her favourite place to dig in. Her voice was muffled. " _You could have died so... many... times..._ "

" _But I didn't._ "

" _Actually, you did._ "

" _Yet here I am._ "

" _Here you are. Still an idiot._ "

He hummed without a tune and closed his eyes. " _I feel... tired. My Light is dim._ "

" _We went through so much trouble just so we could bring you back. You are so, so lucky._ "

" _I guess. How's that?_ "

" _We've got good friends._ "

A throat was cleared. Ikharos opened his eyes and looked up. A man was waiting by the end of the bed. He wore a brown tunic and darker leggings, with a leaf-green scarf wrapped over his shoulders. His ears were pointed. Elf. Maybe.

"You're awake." The stranger sounded genuinely surprised. "You are actually awake. This is... unprecedented."

Ikharos gently dislodged Xiān and sat up. He groaned and rolled his shoulders. "Tell me about it."

"You were dead. And now you aren't."

"Yep."

"Incredible..." The man broke out of his reverie, rushed to a nearby desk, and returned to Ikharos' side with a small bowl in hand. "I'm going to have to ask you a few questions. What's your name?"

"Ikharos Torstil."

"Very good. Where are you from, Ikharos?"

"London."

"And where is that?"

"England. Britain. Europe. Earth."

The elf gave Xiān a questioning look. She bobbed up and down. "Good... Now, Ikharos, how do you feel?"

"Exhausted," Ikharos admitted. "And hungry. Thirsty too."

"Here." The elf offered the bowl. "Drink this, but slowly."

Ikharos afforded the bowl a cursory glance before trying it. The liquid was dark, and it tasted terribly bitter. Once he finished, and the elf took the bowl back, he asked, "What was that?"

The elf hesitated. " _Eld ramr_. Strengthener in your tongue. It will help replenish your energy reserves."

Xiān rose into the air. She pointed with a fin. "This is Falresídr. He helped a ton. Say hi."

Ikharos gave him a nod and nothing more. Falresídr, for his part, presented an awkward bow. "It was nothing," he said politely. His eyes never strayed from Ikharos. "I'm afraid what help I could offer was limited. Noble Xiān did most of the work. I am... glad to see you returned to..."

"To life?" Ikharos let out a heavy breath. "Thanks. I can only imagine how-"

"Horrible it was?" Xiān piped up in a voice much too cheery. Ikharos saw through it. "Oh, it was awful. We were all worried sick." She rotated in the air, "I should tell the others," and she flew out of the room without another word.

Silence reared its ugly head. Falresídr stared. At him. Ikharos sighed. "What is it?"

"How is this possible? There is no spell in the world powerful enough to raise the dead, and yet..."

"You're more right than you realize. No spell in _this_ world."

"I... don't follow."

"Honestly, you're probably better off not knowing. Where are we?"

Falresídr straightened. "Ah, apologies. I haven't... My lord, you are currently in the village of Cirrane. These lodgings are the property of Lady Láerdhon of House Rílvenar."

"Formora," Ikharos surmised.

The elf hesitated. "Indeed."

He looked out the window. He could see trees. And other houses. Gardens too. They were on ground level, or near enough. An open blue sky soared above the forest. It looked far less densely packed than Ellesméra, that was for sure. "Cirrane. Why here?"

Falresídr shrugged helplessly. "I'm afraid I do not know."

Ikharos forced himself to relax. He sucked in air and looked around. His fingers traced the glowing marks left by the Star-Eater's talons. There were other scars with it. Most were thin white marks, but... his hand fell to his stomach and hovered over the place where Kelf had stuck him. Or Elkhon, or whatever she called herself. The only reminder of where the knife pierced him was a small inch-wide spot where the skin was noticeably indented, just above and to the left of his navel. Nowhere near as gaudy as what the Aphelion did to him, but no less horrific. He could almost feel the phantom blade sinking into him...

He suppressed a shiver; yet another scar to add to the pile. Another potential nightmare to bother him down the line.

"How the hell am I alive?" He heard himself ask.

"You weren't when we found you." Formora walked in, elegant and grave all at once. She'd changed out of her armour into a lighter, more colourful garb. Her boots had been replaced with lighter shoes. Her long-sleeved tunic was a pale cream, a stark contrast to her leggings of dark oak. Her tan cloak and silver sparrow brooch were back. She wore two obsidian rings on the middle and little fingers of her right hand. They had been fitted with clear white diamonds surrounded by tiny letters in winding elven script.

A necklace of gold thread hung from her neck. It looped through a silver coin stamped with a star breaking out of a ring, a blue gem in the centre. It was the Reef coin he'd given her, all the way back on Vroengard.

It suited her.

Falresídr bowed again. "My lady."

She offered him a grateful smile. "Thank you for your efforts, Falresídr son of Karléithin. I am grateful for all you have done. Your skills are exemplary - your father would be proud."

A shadow crossed the half-elf's face. "I... hope so, my lady. My lord, I wish you a swift recovery." He turned, gathered a few pots and phials from a nearby table, and summarily left. Ikharos curiously watched him go.

His eyes drifted back to Formora, and found her looking right back. Finally, she said, "You did it again."

"Did what again?"

"You walked into the monster's lair and died for it."

"But here I am."

"Ikharos, this is not a jest." Her eyes were full of something approaching anger. "We dragged your corpse onto a Skiff. Xiān was screaming. She thought you were truly gone. It's nothing short of a miracle that we managed to purge the wound in time."

"But it was-"

"Stop." She walked to the foot of the bed. Not just angry. Furious. With him. "Do you realize how close you came to your final death? We saved you with mere minutes to spare. Minutes. Not hours or days. Minutes. The curse almost destroyed your Light. You... I've never seen anything like it. Your wounds were beyond fatal. They were meant to shatter the very essence of who you are."

"I'm well aware." He turned away. The window suddenly became oh so very interesting.

"Are you? It doesn't sound to me like you are. You were dead and the Eliksni couldn't save you. Xiān couldn't save you. I-" She trailed off. He heard a sigh. "We had to perform spells never uttered before. We had to pick at a science we had no understanding of. We put all we had together just to leech away the Dark taking root in you. Xiān told me that, even by your people's standards, your survival is nothing short of a miracle."

"I can't exactly stop."

"No. But you _can_ allow others to help you."

Any other time, he would have argued. But, right then and there, Ikharos couldn't summon the effort needed. He felt depleted. Not just of Light, but of hope.

Formora took notice. She sat at the end of the bed and lowered her voice. "What ails you?"

Ikharos closed his eyes. Her presence was welcome. She was understanding, vigilant, and possessing of a font of wisdom he knew he could count on. "Kelf was there. But... Psekisk. She's turned. She's a Shade."

"Xiān informed me... informed _us_ of what transpired."

"I thought it was impossible. Hezran's notes specifically said it was impossible. We're supposed to be immune. Our Light is supposed to protect us from corruption."

"Perhaps her Light was lost?"

"No. It was there. I saw it. I felt it. She had her Light. She _has_ Light. And she's a damn Shade." Ikharos slowly forced the air from his lungs and waited for the burn. When it came half a minute later, he refilled them. "She's better than me. Stronger. Older. More magic. I destroyed her heart twice and both times she came back. I can't kill her. I can't beat her. I can't..."

Formora's hand found his shoulder and squeezed. " _Hvaëtall nàta deyja_. Even Nezarec. Even Kelf. We need only find a way."

He leaned into it and met her gaze. He had so much to say, but he didn't know how to say it. Not even the ancient language was enough. Not for anything he felt. For once, he envied the Psions for their intrinsic ability to convey each and every one of their thoughts unfiltered with nothing more than a mere glance. Vocal language never felt so lacking as it did in that moment.

Time passed. He could have sat there all day and basked in the support she offered, but he eventually had to ask, "How long have I been out?"

Her hand fell away. "Three days.

 _Three days._ "That bad?"

"Worse."

Ikharos winced. Her tone had darkened. She wasn't pleased.

"I've never had cause to heal a dead body. I don't think anyone has. The spells Falresídr and I cast were... unnatural. On any other day, I would have considered it dark magic."

His fingers brushed over his most recent scar. "How did you, uh...?"

"Don't," Formora warned. "Don't make me ever do that again."

"... I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say.

"You were _dead_. Truly dead."

"I'm Risen. Being dead is kind of a prerequisite. And an aftereffect. And-"

"Stop. Just... stop dying."

Ikharos kept quiet. He didn't want an argument. Not with her. "I'm sorry," he said again. He meant it too. But he couldn't stop and they both knew it.

She stood up. Formora stiffly walked over to a nearby shelf, gathered a pile of elven-weave clothes, and dropped them beside him. "Kiphoris and Sundrass left two days ago to reconvene with Tarrhis, but Nyreks has remained behind with some of his warriors. The Eliksni will be waiting for you. As will my people."

"Back to work, then."

"No." Though she wasn't smiling, her expression wasn't quite as dire as before. "Despite what befell you, we struck a victory. The Broodqueen was slain and the Hive have gone to ground. There is much yet to be done, but... we have time to do as we wish. And you need to recover your strength.

"Joy."

Her hand touched his face and ghosted over his cheek. "Ikharos. I am... immeasurably relieved. Don't mistake me."

His own hand covered it and held it close. "I would never."

She finally smiled. He treasured it.

* * *

Formora left not long after, but it was evident she expected him to rouse himself sooner rather than later.

A mirror and small basin of water had been left near the window sill. Though there was a distinct lack of infrastructure, the quality of life employed by the elves wasn't half bad. He took advantage of it and washed himself as best he could. The scars bothered him. Aside from where Elkhon stuck him, there were the spots left by the Darkblade's axe. Each of them had been shallow rending wounds, but each was a reminder of a near-death strike either blocked with a ward or dodged outright.

Formora was right. He shouldn't have gone alone. But there was no one else to join him. Elves were fine fighters and magicians, and Eliksni were incredible soldiers and planners, but the Hive... Few could comfortably take on a Hive brood leader and hope to live.

He dried and dressed himself. The clothes left out for him were, again, of a material he just couldn't place. It was soft and yet it did not feel like it would tear easily. The leggings were loose and dark red, like dried blood, but the tunic was a lighter and more inviting cloud-white. A pair of supple elven boots had been laid out. The ends of them were pointed and turned ever so slightly upwards. He assumed it was the Du Weldenvarden fashion - that, or Formora was setting him up for a laugh.

The issue was that he couldn't be sure...

" _Ikha Riis_?" An Eliksni's head poked in through the doorway. Even without a helmet, Melkris' unusually bright eyes set him apart from his kin. A short plume of red bristles ran down the centre of his scalp. His exoskeleton was faded dark with youth, but for an Eliksni that could have ranged anywhere from a couple of decades to a few hundred years.

Seeing Ikharos, the shockshooter let himself in without waiting for a response. He happily closed his outer eyes. " _Kirzen_! You're not dead anymore!" He walked over and leaned in very close. Ikharos tried to inch away, but claws caught him and held him still. "Stop, favourite human. Let me... Ah! You are more than not-dead! You are alive!"

"Do you mind?" He was finding it difficult to be annoyed, but his ever-vigilant pride forced him to at least keep the façade going.

Melkris beamed. " _Nama_."

"Melkris, I swear, let go or you'll lose a hand." He lightly shoved the Eliksni back. Melkris laughed as retreated. "Damn psesiskar."

"Angry is good. Angry means your heart is beating strong."

"That's your justification?"

" _Eia_!"

"You're awful."

" _Nama_ , I'm very pretty."

Ikharos shook his head out of sheer exasperation. "What do you want?"

"For you to hurry up, lazy human. There is food waiting for us! A glorious meal of fruits and nuts and... and..."

"I just want a drink."

"There will be that too. Let us go!"

"Fine, fine." Ikharos tied the final lacings on his new boots and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. "So everyone else bailed?"

"Not everyone. Other warriors remained. Nyreks is here. Beraskes and Cyrix too. They are fun."

"Friends of yours?"

" _Nama_. Victims."

Ikharos raised an eyebrow. No doubt it was lost on the shockshooter. "Excuse me?"

Melkris shrugged with his primary shoulders, but there was a smirk in his eyes. "Nothing. You need not be worried, _Kirzen_."

Ikharos grumbled. "Worrying's my lot in life. And death."

"You are too serious." Melkris reached back behind his cloak and procured a gun. It was bone-white with golden thorns sprouting out of the sides of the barrel. "I, ah, recovered this for you."

Ikharos resisted the urge to snatch the Lumina away. He forced himself to slowly, gently, take it from Melkris and hold up at eye-level. It was unblemished; as pure as the day he forged it.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Melkris shrugged again. "It is your special weapon, yes? It is very... ordinary. Very fancy, _eia_ , but very primitive."

 _As if_ _._ "No." Seeing the shockshooter's questioning look, he said, "We'll talk about it later. I promise."

The shockshooter nodded impatiently. "Eia, very good. Can we go yet? Mine-stomach is too empty!"

 _And mine had a hole in it._ Ikharos awkwardly tucked his cannon into a pocket and waved to the door. "Lead the way."

* * *

Outside his room was a corridor and doors to other rooms. Unlike anything he'd seen in Ellesméra, the building he found himself in wasn't built like a tower. There was nothing but the ground floor. It was a touch more quaint than the Rílvenar house in the capital.

Down the corridor they walked. Melkris was, as ever, a bubbling font of infectious excitement and he babbled on and on about the elven delicacies waiting for them. Ikharos smiled along, but he personally couldn't even think about food. Not with an imaginary knife still twisting in his belly.

The corridor widened out into a fine dining room, complete with a homey hearth and a long table lined with chairs. A few plates of bountiful fruits, nuts, breads, and even a handful of small pastries had been left out. Formora saw them coming and gestured to the chairs beside her. The only others in the room were Nyreks, a Marauder with her helmet on the table before her, and Xiān.

The last flew to him and landed on his shoulder. Her weight was comforting. It anchored him in place and drew him out of his darkening thoughts.

The Marauder offered him a lazy _miurlis_ salute. Nyreks was more formal. He stood and offered upturned palms in respectful supplication. " _Velask_ , _Kirzen_."

" _Vel_ , _Nyreks-Va'ha_ _._ "

Breakfast - or was it lunch? - was just as he imagined it would be. Everything boasted flavour of some kind, and everything was displayed with utter perfection. He wanted none of it. Most of it was too rich for his liking. In the end, he settled for a small bowl of... something. He would have first thought it a kind of soup, but it was too clear. Herbs had been sprinkled into it and now floated on the surface. It might have been squeezed juice, but again something was different. He scooped out a spoonful and tentatively sipped it.

The best analogy he could think was spiced water. The flavour wasn't exactly sweet, far from sour, and it left a pleasant tingle that could only recall sampling during visits to a certain ramen-specialized establishment. It was cool and pleasant - and, ultimately, one of the few things he could possibly stomach.

"What is this?"

Formora gave the bowl a glance. " _Draumr-Adurna_."

"Dream water?"

"It is... calming. And beneficial to scholars mapping the strands of magic. It's freshwater prepared with a touch of Loivissa extract and crushed Lianí seeds."

Ikharos downed another spoonful. "It's good," he concluded. On a whim, he picked at the front of his shirt. "And what's this?"

"Lamaráe. Nettle-weave."

He nodded. "It's a nice fabric. Made with magic?"

"Of course."

He settled back to enjoy what he had. Once finished, Ikharos pushed the bowl aside, leaned his elbows on the table, and asked in Low Speak, "What happened?"

There was no need to specify. They knew what he meant.

Formora flinched, but she answered first nonetheless. "There... was a complication. The Er'kanii arrived with-"

"Er'kanii?" Ikharos asked.

The Marauder made a disgruntled sound. "Murderers. Flesh-Eaters. Loyal to Cabal."

Xiān's pinions twitched. "What are they like?"

"All mouth and little else," Nyreks growled. "Their only concerns are flesh and bone. Everything is a hunt to them. Everyone is food."

Formora picked up where she left off. "They arrived near our location with the body of the Ahamkara we slew in Ceunon."

Ikharos' good mood evaporated. "... Shit. Did the Hive get it?!"

" _Nama_ ," Melkris reported. "But they did try." His outer eyes blinked. "Zeshus and I slew a Knight!"

"You did?" Ikharos turned to Formora. She reluctantly nodded.

"It was unlike anything I fought before," she said. "And certainly stronger. It was determined to kill us. I'm not sure how we managed to defeat it."

He wanted to ask more on the matter, but... "What happened to the Ahamkara?"

"The Harmony took it." Formora exhaled fitfully. "Nezarec's people. They arrived and attacked what Hive that came to collect the body. And... I think they would have attacked us too, if the wish-dragon's corpse hadn't been there."

The silver warriors. "They were in the ship too. They attacked the Hive leaders. I... didn't stick around to see how it went."

"If they want to kill Hive," the Marauder spat, "then I see no reason to stand in their way. Maw-Bitten monsters, all of them."

"Harmony are evil too," Melkris reminded her. "They sent their pets to attack us in Ceunon."

"I know, you deaf psesiskar. I see no issue in Hive fighting Harmony either. Let them fight. Let them kill each other." She angrily tore at a slice of bread. The display dampened the ferocity of her words.

Ikharos looked down at his empty bowl, thoughts in disarray. He mentally kicked himself; he shouldn't have left the Ahamkara's body in Ceunon. He should have done something. Anything!

But the Hive didn't have it. Even so, the Harmony had reclaimed their pet. It was as good as alive. That was a bullet barely dodged, only for it to loop right around.

"Just means one more wish-dragon to watch out for," he muttered. "No problem."

A tense silence fell over the table. The Eliksni tried to busy themselves with the meal laid out before them to distract themselves.

"It spoke to me."

Ikharos gave a start. "Who?"

"One of the Harmony." Formora's hand shook, but not with fear. It was anger. Red-hot rage. A vehement hate for anything with metal skin. "It... It would have killed me too. But it didn't. Not out of mercy, but because it was called away." Her jaw tightened. "It did not consider me worth the effort. After what all their puppeteering has done, has done to _me_ , they don't even afford me anything but the barest notice."

"Because they're fools!" Melkris crowed. "They know not how dangerous you are, Wishbreaker!"

Formora's fury gave way to a tight smile. "They've underestimated us."

 _With good reason_ , Ikharos reflected grimly. _If Elkhon's at their beck and call, they've as good as won._

The Marauder stood, evidently finished. She inclined her head to all present, donned her helmet, and stalked away. Melkris watched her go and grinned too broadly for Ikharos' liking.

Nyreks caught sight of it and hissed. "What have you done?"

The shockshooter raised four empty hands in mock surrender. "What? I am innocent!"

"If Beraskes find something awry, she will pry off your chitin with your own knives."

"But I didn't do anything!"

A distinct feeling of amusement filtered in from Xiān's end of their neural bond. " _Actually, it was me._ "

Ikharos withheld a groan. " _What did you do?_ "

" _I changed her helmet's operating systems to English instead of Eliksni. She's going to find it very hard to slip into stealth._ "

" _Is that wise? What if we're attacked?_ "

" _... You're such a fun killer._ "

" _And you're a liability_ ," he shot back. " _Next time you and Melkris go plotting, try for something a little less dangerous. Fix this._ "

" _Can it wait an hour at least?_ "

" _Really?_ "

" _Yeah. It'll be funny._ "

" _She's a Marauder. You're playing a dangerous game._ "

" _Like you aren't?_ " Xiān challenged. She regretted it almost immediately - he could feel it. " _Sorry._ "

Ikharos shook his head ever so slightly. " _No. You're right. I took too many risks._ "

" _At least everything worked out, eh?_ "

She didn't sound sure of herself. He felt the same - uncertain, in every sense of the word.

* * *

He needed to know more. Three days was a long time. More than enough for their foes to make dangerous moves. More than enough for a potential opportunity to slip by their notice.

Nyreks, Beraskes the Marauder, and Melkris were not the only Eliksni in Cirrane. Another four warriors were stationed within the village, according to their Vandal commander. And for Ikharos' own safety, no less. He would have to remember to thank Tarrhis the next time he met with the Baron. The Scars were fast becoming indispensable.

He was under no doubt that they'd use that to call in favours down the line. And he wouldn't even begrudge them for it. Not after all the good they had done.

When breakfast - _or lunch, but who cares?_ \- was cleared away, Ikharos took advantage of Formora's wordless invitation to join her for a stroll outside. It wasn't just the questions that propelled him on; it was the desire to see Cirrane and... perhaps even just to be in her company for a while longer.

The last reason was cause for a bout of inner turmoil. Old pains and new desires clashed with fire. The latter won out, but the former had left its mark. He knew to be wary - he'd been burned twice and had no intention of braving those flames again.

The outside world was testament to the different environments encompassing Du Weldenvarden. While Cirrane was certainly hidden within the massive sea of woodland, the old trees were farther apart from one another, sparser. One could see the clouds or stars above with little issue while still taking advantage of the natural cover provided by the ancient forestry.

Cirrane itself was beautiful in a way Ellesméra never was. It didn't try to imagine itself as part of the forest. Instead, it married the idea of wilderness and settlement together far more seamlessly. The buildings were created in the same manner as those found in the capital, but they were more recognizable as buildings.

For example: the house he'd only just left turned out to be a sizable lodge situated on a small rise overlooking the village. The roof was smooth and met in the centre to find a spine for itself, and it was covered in a layer of vibrant green leaves that would no doubt keep elements at bay. The entire building had a vague L-shape, with one segment being the main hall and the rest being the living quarters. The rise it stood upon must have been an ancient plateau of weathered rock, and most of it had been shorn away millenia past to leave the foundations for the Láerdhon household. It was covered in dark earth and overgrown with wild bushes, grasses, and flowers, but parts of the grey stone peeked through in odd spots. The steps leading from the main doors of the lodge down the rise and into the village were carved from that very stone with expert precision.

High-pitched laughter stole his focus. Ikharos caught sight of three elven children giggling around one of the Eliksni warriors. The Scar was making motions with his hands and strange noises with his mandibles, evidently as taken with his audience as they were with him.

He smiled - couldn't help it. There was something endearing about the scene playing out before them.

"Again!" One of the sharp-eared children laughed.

The Vandal flared his mandibles in a mock growl and raise his upper arms menacingly. The children, each of whom looked no more than ten at most, let out little screams and cowered - or tried to, in any case. A fit of ceaseless chortling had taken hold of them. The oldest of them raised a stick as if it were a sword and stood in front of the others as if she were a valiant hero arriving just in time to save the day.

She whacked the Vandal right in the chest.

The stick broke. The other children went quiet, suddenly worried. And the Vandal doubled over, shaking with laughter. He dropped a hand on the little elf's shoulder and announced, "You are the bravest warrior I have ever met."

His alien words fell on deaf ears, but the gesture was more than enough. The child smiled widely. Her friends congratulated her on "defeating the monster."

Formora's hand brushed his own. They descended from the rise. The warrior and children looked over. The latter were clueless and curious, but the former gave an elaborate bow. " _Kirzen_."

" _Vel_ ," Ikharos greeted in passing. Formora offered her own smiles to the children, and then they moved on. The laughter resumed mere moments later, sparked by the warrior's continued antics.

"The Scars have implemented themselves well," Formora observed. "Did I not say my people would adore them?"

"You did. I didn't disagree."

"But you didn't believe anything as tame as this could come to be."

"... No. Not this soon. I'm glad to be wrong."

The other properties that made up Cirrane followed the lodge's example. There were defined paths and roads reaching between them, even if they were little better than trails of beaten earth. It looked like a true living and breathing settlement. In comparison, Ellesméra seemed an overly vain attempt at recreating Elysium.

"This place is a sanctuary from the vices of perfection," he murmured. "A place to persist in everlasting contentedness."

"Are you content?"

He mulled it over. "No. But if the troubles of the outer world ceased to be, perhaps I could be. I've never managed to find true peace before. I think I'd like to try it. But I am not a peaceful man. I'm finding difficulty in imagining myself without a war."

Formora did... something. There was a subtle change in how she held herself and how she looked at him, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "True. But I think you don't understand yourself quite as well as you think you do."

"Oh, I don't dispute that."

"You fight for peace and safety."

"I know. I'm a hypocrite."

"A hypocrite with noble ideals."

"Noble to you. Noble to I. But not noble to all. There are those who would dispute my ideals and name them falsehoods. They might even be right."

"And there are those who herald you as a speaker of the truth."

"I don't like that. I want that, but I don't like that. I teach. I don't lead."

"They are one in the same."

"No. To teach is to offer an example. To lead is to assign one's self and aspirations as higher and nobler than those around them. I cannot lead. I am not ambitious. I have never been ambitious. I have never grasped power for control or prestige. Only out of desperation have I acted ambitiously. And desperation is animal instinct. Involuntary. Beyond my ability to control."

"Oh, but you do have ambitions. You yearn after a brighter future and act to make it reality. That is not teaching. That is leadership. An offered leadership, not seized."

"Think so? Sure, sometimes. But I am a man of the present. Always have been, always will be. It's my fatal flaw. Anything beyond that is just my imagination running wild." He took in the scents of wilderness. The air was fresh and full of the smell of pine. "I could have been king, you know."

Fomora was left utterly baffled. Her frown said it all. "Of Salsburg?"

"Of the Dark." Ikharos stopped, knelt, and picked a vibrant blue flower. He offered it to her. "I didn't know it at the time... but I also think I _did_. It was a subconscious decision. At my very core I decided: no. I won't take His place. I knew Him. Oh, by the Traveler, did I know Him. I read His tomes. I learned His craft. I was there when His son died. I watched His daughters scream their last. He should have hated me. He did. But there was love too - as one loves a fulfilling rivalry. I slew him. I left His petrified corpse to orbit a dead world, depleted of all soul. I took His heart and caged it inside a weapon I left to gather dust. And, after all that, I swore to forget. I swore to never fall. When the Devils rose once again, and the call to crush them was sounded, I did nothing. I tried to live an monotonous life and fool myself into thinking what I did was right. All because I knew Him and I hated the idea of becoming Him."

He sighed. "I despaired. I thought I was wrong. I hated Him. I mourned Him. I mourned Him because I was, and am, flawed. I mourned Him because He filled that throne and without Him I was the next in line. A throne sat empty, and if I couldn't take it, someone else would. But I still couldn't take it. Because I have no ambition."

Formora stared at him. He looked away. Ikharos regretted even bringing it up, but now that it was out he just couldn't stop.

"Someone took the throne. They replaced Him. _She_ replaced him. All our efforts... wasted. Our victory was undone. But I didn't care. Ambition is a trap, because power is a cell. The more you grow, the more constricting it becomes. I fear ambition. _That_ is why I am not ambitious. Because I am craven. I believe in the childish fantasy of flying free. I cannot lead because I have no chains to bind me. I am not ambitious, and I don't know whether to be glad for it or ashamed."

She took the flower and held it over her heart. "You speak of gods, but here the gods don't matter."

"Who are you to say that?"

"A mortal." She tucked the flower behind one ear. "I am greater than any god. You are greater than any god. We are all greater than gods. If the Hive's faith is ascension, then it is a lie. They are cutting away all their greatness because another god deceived them."

"There is truth in their words." He hated himself for saying what he was.

"I refuse to believe it."

"I did too, for a time. But someone - not a friend - told me a story to prove it. Here, imagine three nations with three great queens. One fosters a law-abiding community. Another builds a tower for her people to touch the stars. And the last conquers the world. Which queen is greatest?"

"The just queen. The kind queen. But not the ambitious queen."

"Are you saying ambition is bad? It's a cage, but not all cages are evil. Freedom is just as culpable, if not moreso."

"Ambition unmonitored is terrible. All things must be kept in moderation. Desire in all its forms are just one of many treacherous paths we tread."

"Then you'll like this; in some nations, those three queens sit down and work together. Their new nation is lawful, it pierces the heavens, and it is ringed in spears."

"Did your not-friend say that?"

"He did. But I got the feeling he didn't approve. He called those nations crowned in spears oddities. Rare and short-lived."

"Better to live short and meaningful lives than to languish in purposelessness for all eternity."

"There is no purposelessness for those who cling to high ambitions. There is no purposelessness in the Hive or the Harmony. There is one singular purpose for them, and that is survival to the very end. And their survival means the rise of their imagined Final Shape."

"What is your purpose?" Her eyes pierced right through him.

Ikharos hesitated. "A nation boasting spears," he admitted. "But that is my example. Not my right. I can't change that even if I wanted to. I cannot lead others to it. I don't have the ambition to do so."

"You fight for it."

"I do. I adopt the enemy's truth to make my lie all the more real."

"Therein is your ambition. To make a supposed lie reality. It is example _and_ right."

"Am I wrong to do so?" He whispered.

Formora laid a hand over his heart. "No one is wrong. No one is true. You already know this. There are many truths. We've merely picked one to champion. To us, the other truths are wrong. To believers of other truths, we are wrong. _We_ are the liars. But you are not wrong."

He straightened. "That's what I want to believe."

"Then believe it. I certainly won't stop you."

"Why?"

"Because I believe in the same thing. That their 'Sword Logic' is wrong."

"Where's your evidence?"

"Your survival. The Broodqueen's death. She followed her truth, you followed yours. Who lived? Who died?"

"We both did."

"You've come back."

"And her Echo might still be kicking, if the Harmony haven't snagged it. She's depleted, I'm weakened. We've reached a stalemate."

"No. You won. Your death came to be because of someone else."

"Who follows the same truth as the Broodqueen. The Dark is the Dark, and both Shades and Hive owe allegiance to the same theology. Elkhon might kill a Hive, or a Hive might kill Elkhon, but to both of them that is right and proper."

"You don't. If you were to die, you would fight it."

"So would Elkhon."

"For a different reason. She would end thinking it an unavoidable fate. But you would consider your death unfair. You would rage."

"' _Rage, rage against the dying of the light_ _._ ' Aye, maybe. But in the end we're still both dead and forgotten."

"You know what you believe. Do you consider what you believe to be right?"

"I think so."

"As do I."

"Well, that settles it." He smiled uncertainly. "Maybe I should have just debated Oryx into stepping down."

"I suppose you did, in a way."

"Now now, that's how _they_ think. Don't be switching sides on me."

"Why ask these questions? Why field these challenges?"

"I... Do you remember, some time ago, when I told you that I don't expect to see the future I dream of? My fantasies have always been out of reach. And I... I fear I am finally becoming disillusioned with all of it." He barked a short, bitter laugh. "How ironic, eh? Me, slayer of Oryx, have become little more than a bitter old man."

Formora furrowed her brow and offered him a critical look. She didn't approve. "But why now? Surely you've asked these questions before."

He knew the answer to that. It had stuck a knife in his belly. "Elkhon is... I don't know. I've never seen anything like her. She's an unholy cross of Light and Dark. She's better than me, and I don't mean just physically. Not even magically. I mean... she has two logics to fall back on. Two. In terms of sheer power, she outclasses me in every way."

"No." Formora shook her head. "Not every way. I refuse to believe it. Your drive is greater than hers - I don't need to meet her to know that. There is no one with such drive as you. Your determination has laid waste to gods. It has bound peoples of distant stars together as allies and friends."

"The alliance was your idea."

She smiled. "I made the initial push, yes, but we both contributed. Cooperation: is that not the framework of a nation ringed in spears?"

"What are you saying?"

"That our truths and beliefs have borne fruit. It _works_."

"Elkhon has that too."

"Does she? From what I can tell, she is nothing more than a creature of sheer violence."

"So am I."

"... No. You aren't." Formora walked on. He went with her. "You are accustomed to violence, that I won't disagree, but I am too. But we do not fight for the fight itself. We fight so that others may enjoy peace. So that, maybe, we can enjoy peace."

"A peace I'm losing faith in."

"I don't believe you are."

"Why's that?"

"Because you're enjoying peace now."

Ikharos couldn't summon the necessary argument to show he disagreed, because, with a start, he realized he didn't disagree. He _was_ enjoying himself. "Not disillusioned enough," he mused.

They reached a building different to all the others. It looked like the elven version of a chapel. It was made the same way as all the others: sung from trees and foliage into a splendid form.

"The Library of Manin-Kvaedhír," Formora murmured. "This was my mother's responsibility. Now it is mine."

"I do love libraries, but..." Ikharos turned to her. "Is there an ulterior purpose to this?"

"Does there need to be?"

"No. But there is one, isn't there?"

The edges of her lips threatened to form a smile. "My mother was a scholar. My father was a caretaker to the surrounding groves. I am neither. I cannot care for a forest. I cannot manage our ancestral archives. Not as I am. I am Formora the Warrior, not Formora the Librarian. I am ill-suited to this task."

She wasn't wrong. In appearance alone, her profession was more than obvious. Formora had a slender physique like all elves, but where most retained an effortless strength, she went a little ways further. Her shoulders were broad for what she was, and her arms were wrapped with compact muscle and sinew. She had a lithe, wiry frame that painted her as more a fighter than anything else. There was a hard edge in her gaze that no other Fair Folk possessed - not Oromis, not Arya, not a single other elf.

Only Enduriel, for what short time Ikharos knew him, could boast the same.

"If... we make it past every calamity," she said slowly, "then maybe I could embrace a new vocation, but... it is open to you as well."

She was offering him a library. A _library_.

Ikharos grinned. "I do love books." His smile lessened as the rest of his mind caught up. "But I'm in the same boat. I have no time for it now, and there's no telling what happens later."

Formora didn't much mind. "We'll see what the future brings, in that case." And she opened the front door.

The inside was as elegantly shaped as the out, but all the more glorious for the bookshelves within. Ikharos took in the achingly familiar smell of dry paper and strode inside.

There was a desk piled with scrolls nearby. An elven woman had been sorting them, only to look up as they entered. She offered Ikharos an uncertain, confused smile, but when she looked past him the smile lost all warmth. She inclined her head stiffly and touched her lips. "Lady Láerdhon. _Atra esterní ono thelduin_."

"Atheirí," Formora greeted reservedly. She mirrored the motion. " _Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr_."

_No love lost there._

"Is there anything I may help you with?" Atheirí asked.

"We're just here for a look. I apologize if we have disturbed your work."

"These archives are yours, my lady." Atheirí bowed her head again. Her posture was respectful, but there was a touch of hostility and coldness apparent even to him.

Evidently, that was enough. Formora abandoned the entire conversation and delved deeper into the library. Atheirí watched her disappear into the maze of bookshelve, then turned to Ikharos with a puzzled expression.

"Did you arrive with the Eliksni?" She asked.

Ikharos nodded. He was still fixated on the thinly-veiled confrontation. "I did. Not conscious at the time, but I was." Atheirí continued to look puzzled right up until the moment he added, "I was the dead guy."

Puzzlement turned to disbelief, then morphed into something not quite unlike horror. He moved on and followed Formora into the literary paradise. A smug, self-satisfied smile found its way onto his face.

He browsed the shelves, hoping to find something both in a language he knew and of a topic he had an interest in. There were plenty of tomes and scrolls that filled one quota or the other, but finding both at once was rare. It took him a five-minute search to locate something satisfactory, but once he did he set to work immediately.

The book, _Deed of Gëda_ by Veöhr of Kirtan, was a simplistic fictional story in both English and elven runes. It was so very cliché as a heroic tale, but after the first three chapters Ikharos began to pick up on the message Veöhr was trying to impart.

A noble elven lad had grown irrationally homesick, and swore to return to his ancestral home of Alalëa across the West Sea and find his mother's people. To build a ship and gather a crew, the elf performed nine great deeds to earn the favour of his queen so that she would allow him to construct an elven dhow and leave Alagaësia forevermore.

The elf, Gëda, did all that and more. He followed the teachings of an ancient dragon, he dueled the Urgal Chieftain Zushkran, he orchestrated the first negotiations between elves and dwarves, and he finally built his silver ship. Alas, Gëda found that he had changed his mind and now considered Alagaësia home, but he was yet a slave to the oath he uttered in the ancient language not ten years before. Tearfully, Gëda bade farewell to all he had grown to love over his decade-long endeavour and sailed away, never to be seen again.

The last line read: " _Ever lost was he, Gëda of Tulóthr, to memories of grey._ "

The ending was both unsatisfying and fulfilling at the same time. As a simple story, it was a gentle tragedy. Nothing like Shaxx's favoured tales. But the real beauty lay in how tenderly Veöhr pressed forth the dangers of overly rash oaths. For a society fluent in the ancient language, it was a valuable lesson to learn.

Formora appeared. She held three books, all piled up in order of size. Ikharos returned the _Deed of Gëda_ to its old spot and asked, "What are these?"

She handed him the first. "This is _Convocations_ , a book of philosophy written by the revered scholar Nuala. Her studies mainly pertained to magic theory and the movements of energy. I thought that you might find it intriguing, given your prowess with magic. And this," she passed over the second, "is _Súndavar_. Shadows. It's... about Shades. All we know of them. It describes their natures, their tendencies, their weaknesses, and their vices. Much of it is hypothetical, but we still may learn how to-"

"Thank you," Ikharos said quietly.

Formora flashed him a fleeting smile. "You're very welcome."

He looked the book over. The cover was black leather and the pages were yellow with age. A silver rune rested on the front cover. It curled like a wicked hook, with a tail that tapered off into nothing. Ikharos nodded gratefully. If there were any potential weaknesses, then they were worth exploiting. "What about true names?"

She looked up sharply. Formora's expression became guarded. "Who's true name?"

"Elkhon. Or all Shades, preferably. Are they really called shadows in the ancient language?"

"Not truly. As a whole, they are _Súndavrkyn_. Shadow-kin. But that is only the true name of their kind, not any individual. I am of the _Älfakyn_ and you... you are _Dauthné_. Those words hold little sway over us, just as _Súndavrkyn_ does over Shades."

It was disappointing, but he'd already doubted defeating his foes would ever be so simple. He opened up a random page and... made a face. "I can't read this."

Formora took it from him. "Ah. _Liduen Kvaedhí_. The Poetic Script. I hadn't... The fault is mine. I'll transcribe it myself."

"Is it difficult to learn?"

She gave him a thoughtful look. "You are fair with languages." Formora reverted her attention to the book and began skimming through it. "I could teach you."

"That would be excellent. I appreciate it."

She hummed to signify that she heard. Ikharos looked at her. Not for any other purpose than just to see her. She was fierce. There was a strength in her beyond the limitations of her body. A strength of will. She was effortlessly beautiful. All elves were, but she was special - though that could have been a biased opinion on his part.

Her lips were thin, but he could always pick out the soft smile just waiting for a moment to shine. They were pressed together thoughtfully at that very moment. Her eyes were a powerful and bright emerald green, with dark slanting eyebrows above. Her skin was tan and sun-kissed, which admittedly wasn't unusual among her people. Her lashes and brow were deep black, and her hair was the colour of smoke. She wore it swept back from her brow to reveal a widow's peak, and it tumbled just over her shoulders. Her pointed ears cut through the strands and proudly shouted to the world: _I am an elf._

Ikharos held her dear. He'd already accepted that. Dearer than almost all others on Kepler - or even the universe at large. He treasured their talks and their friendship. His respect for her was beyond what he held for most. She was a good person. Great. And close to him and his heart.

She was different to he, and vastly so, but he knew what it was like to love something different. And love perfectly encapsulated what he felt.

As if she could feel his gaze, Formora looked up and raised an eyebrow as if to say: _yes?_

He grasped for something, anything, and settled for: "Why are your ears pointed? What purpose does it serve? Increased sensitivity?"

She frowned suspiciously. "Are you asking or is Xiān?"

Ikharos shook his head. He mentally kicked himself. "No. She's off plotting with Melkris." The lull of mischief prodded him to add, "Should I tell them?"

Formora pursed her lips distastefully. "She will not touch my ears. Neither will Melkris."

"Is that crossing a cultural line?"

"No. I merely do not trust either of them."

"So I'm taking that as a 'quite sensitive.'"

"Don't tell them."

Ikharos chuckled. "I won't. What a state we're in, that we don't trust our comrades."

"Not those two." Formora closed the book and added it to the pile. Ikharos glanced to the third one.

"What's that?"

"This?" She held it up and gave it a pensive look. " _The Lay of Vestarí the Mariner_. It's a well-known poem among my people. The Äthalvard consider it the epitome of Old Alalëan literature. I haven't read it in some time; I thought to do so with what time we have left here."

"And how much time is that?"

"A day. I don't think the Eliksni will mind if you take this time to recover."

"Who decided this?"

"Me." Formora looked back to him. "I had set it aside to convince you what an asinine scheme it was for you to fight the Broodqueen alone. I... didn't expect you to be so agreeable."

Ikharos averted his eyes, suddenly self-conscious. "You made some good points," he mumbled.

"I know. You should listen to me more often."

"Maybe."

Formora rolled her eyes. "If you're done, we might as well quit this place. I doubt Atheirí will appreciate us staying here to all hours."

He didn't dispute it. Elven feuds were something he wanted to stay well away from. They walked out without a word for the other elf, and he swore he could feel the librarian's glare burning a hole in his back.

Great. Now he was guilty by association.

Evening had begun to fall. The horizon was cast in a bright orange light, leaving the opposite side of the sky as an ugly bruise purple. The cawing of crows filled the air, and their dark forms flitted across the sky. Ikharos tensed. He knew there was no way - not a single one - that a Reef drone could have crawled its way across the cosmos to find him, but the deep-rooted wariness towards all dark-feathered avians was hard to ignore.

"Carrion birds," he decided.

"Field birds," Formora corrected. "Osilon is to the north. It's the agricultural centre of Du Weldenvarden. The birds come seeking what grain and seeds will be left out for them, in exchange for leaving what is to be planted alone."

It was a far less grim reality than the one he'd envisioned. Ikharos accepted it without a hitch. But, as they made their way back to the lodge, he pressed another question. "What's Atheirí's problem with you?"

Formora went rigid. She looked around to ensure no one was listening in, and when she spoke it was barely a whisper. "I knew these people. Few in Ellesméra ever met me before, but here... I knew them. I _know_ them. And they know me. Their... forgiveness is slow to come. If it ever does."

He mulled it over. It was a tough break. Tougher if she was expected to be these people's liege. Ikharos, not quite sure if he was doing the right thing, put an arm around her shoulders. Formora sighed in a relieved manner and leaned into him. His heart raced. He was sure she could feel it... and he didn't care.

They walked back to the lodge. He cherished every moment of it.

**000**

"I say to thee, o repurposed chanters,  
From whence have you come?  
There is a chill in the air, a bite in the wind,  
I know this sensation.  
I call it Truth."

"Hark, brother, they come from the north!  
They wield power, and all power is north!  
They bring us a welcoming warning and mask it in worship!"

"No, imaginative Cheirrlok, brother of endless thought,  
This is worship masked as a welcoming warning,  
And they do not know it!"

"Ah, they are honest beyond their own understanding!  
A sharp eye you are, o beloved Kirrnaka-Hul,  
Icon of Honesty!"

"We must all be sharp!"

"We must all be hungering!  
Hear how Maalcoth roars!  
Hear how-  
Sister!"

"O wise Tir Argok, Waker of Honesty,  
Where is your flesh?"

"GONE! GONE! GONE!  
Claimed by soaring birds of Sky!  
They dive and strike, strike and dive,  
With rending beaks they tear at our truth and scrabble for morsels!"

"O dear sister, you are broken!"

"I am sharpened!  
My flesh was a vessel!  
The Logic has torn it from me,  
(Which Logic? - One Logic!)  
And left me as my true self!"

"She speaks of honesty, Cheirrlok.  
We know our sister. She-Of-Many-Lies.  
She has never lied to us her brothers."

"She hasn't.  
Our birth was made in honesty.  
Mother and Father wished for strong children.  
We are strong. Honesty is our sword. Honesty is our foundations.  
Honesty is our God."

"Honesty is war, conquest, and schemes reunified,  
Our honesty is our blades, ambitions, and lies,  
And our lies are knives in throats.  
Ir Eirim wields a knife.  
She will cut away the very Sky."

"Look! The silver one flees.  
He fears my truth. He fears my Honesty."

"His Logic fails him. He fails his Logic.  
Catch him!"

(" _Air'ganí onr, Grathrblädrn.  
_ _Ono eru rangur.  
_ _Vaet galasönar threyja du samr endir, mar nosu eru raehta.  
_ _Aí sverd er né galasön. Thar er né nuan unin onr._ ")

"I cannot. He falls upon his own spear.  
He is a thief of himself.  
He steals the death I am owed.  
Silence o Worm, epicurean of my soul!  
There is no feeding here, only unsafe treachery!"

"Did you hear him Sing? There was a sway in his words.  
It pleases me to think of it sharpened to a point."

"Build upon it, Cheirrlok. And build it strong."

"As ever, o brother Kirrnaka-Hul, I shall.  
By hand and eye I now construct a sword of stolen words."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here's the chapter to which Dominion was tied.


	55. Mindscape

_My Guardian is alive. My Guardian is drinking from a glass of red wine. My Guardian is laughing. He isn't dead. Not anymore. In no small part due to the elves. I owe them so much._

_Speaking of elves..._

_They're just so strange! In general, but individually too. My Guardian thinks so. I think so. They're... far removed from everything we've known before. Which is saying something! It was easy to draw similarities between them and the Awoken upon initial reaction, but there's a marked difference between the two. One's blue, the other's got pointy ears. That's my take. My Guardian's got a whole lot more to say, though._

_Awoken are practically frozen. That's what he said. They're static - either from the get go, or until they get into the prime of their life. They've got the spark of gods in them and it doesn't appreciate the whole dying thing._

_Elves, though, are more natural - according to him that is. And that's what makes them weird. Their natural affinity for magic stems not from Light and Dark, but dragon-magic and Harmony song. Their bodies undergo continuous cellular rejuvenation to battle the rigours of aging. Elves have a startling level of control over their own biology due to magic. And it's a level of control anyone - anyone at all! - with the right paracausal potential can harness if they learn the language by which the elves cast their spells, but the elves are the guys who pioneered it._

_This means my Guardian can change how he looks if the whim strikes him. He knows the rules of this ancient language. He knows a lot of its words. And he's got Warlock smarts to boot. I don't think he will, though. He never really cared for how he looked. We always have something bigger to focus on. Like big angry gods. Or big angry monsters. Or big angry-_

_You get the picture._

_But these elves... it's not just the magic. They think differently. Not totally different, they're still human. But they don't follow the baseline norm. I guess immortality will do that to you. They're closer to Risen than I initially expected. Both live indefinitely. Both live those indefinite lives with magic sparking from their fingertips. Still different, but closer to each other than they are to any other human subspecies. Are Risen even a subspecies? Never been able to figure that one out._

_Maybe that's why we think elves are odd. They don't act like humans, or like Exos, certainly not like dwarves. It's that closeness to Risen behaviour that's so jarring. Again, initially it's a jump, considering how inclined to hoard and roam Risen are and how elves just aren't, but the familiarity with raw power is there. Same with Awoken. Like three uneasy peas in a pod, each reaching far beyond what their mortal ancestors could have ever dreamed of._

_But why them? I've asked myself this so many times. Not just me either; other Ghosts have done the same. Why humans? Why do they have all this magic?_

_Why is my Guardian a human? He's special, he's mine, but I'm not going to pretend there's no one out there even remotely like him. I've seen similar in other humans. In other species. I've seen him in the Eliksni priestess pouring adoration over her Servitors and allies alike. I've seen him in the Psion Flayer so fed up with war and death he strikes out at everyone around him - be they Guardians, Vex, or fellow Cabal. I've seen him in the Hive's unquenchable thirst to know 'WHY?'_

_Why am I not echoing the priestess's prayers? Why aren't I helping the Flayer escape his forced servitude beneath tyrants and monsters? Why can't I float beside a navigator of the primordial oceans of a gas giant, yearning for the answers to all the questions we can possibly imagine?_

_Why am I here, laughing and joking with my humanborn Guardian? Why him?_

_Some have said it's because humanity's got peace in their blood. Bull. I've seen my Guardian rip up Devils by the Skiffload. I've watched him throw himself body and soul into a Hive slaughter-plane just so he could kill everything inside._

_Maybe it's the opposite. Maybe it's because of how ready they are for war - but no, that doesn't make sense. Cabal are the best of the best when it comes to beating something to a pulp. Humans are good, but they aren't at that level of warmongering. That's not why they were chosen._

_I think it's because of how divisive the humans are. Eliksni are divisive too, but they are divided communally. Between Houses. Humans are divided on more individual levels by instinct alone. So many different types of guns, ships, music, you name it. Humans can't agree on anything, because they all have different ways of seeing things. When it comes to humans, the norm isn't always the norm._

_Just look at how many subspecies there are. Awoken, elves, dwarves, urgals, and then there's transhumans like Exos. But there's only one species of Hive. Only one species of Uluru. Only one species of Eliksni - Scorn don't count, they just don't. So many different humans. So much potential for everything._

_Maybe that's why the Traveler stopped for them. They've got the freedom to be anything they want to be. My Guardian's a scholar. He likes to learn. Nothing's stopping him from learning. Nothing but the constant fighting. He hates that part. Well, maybe not the fighting part, but certainly the killing part. He admires weapons. He hates using them to end people. He hates seeing people end._

_That's kinda how I got my name. Because I haven't ended yet. I remember it well. We were in a wrecked library somewhere far south of the Cosmodrome, and he was flipping through books. Philosophy and religion were the primary topics. Well, he found a word, looked at me, and called me Xiān. He said it meant 'immortal.'_

_I laughed and said something along the lines of "It should be your name then!"_

_My Guardian shook his head, all serious. All business. "No. You. You're immortal."_

_"But I'm not."_

_"You are to me. You've been my one and only constant."_

_And I've been 'immortal' ever since. It also means 'fairy', but that's not important. The point is my Guardian learned something and he turned that knowledge into a little gift just for me. I'm certain that's why he's my Guardian. Not the loving priestess, not the desperate Flayer, not the inquisitive navigator. Him. The gently generous scholar. And I think he's the best choice I ever made._

_Am I rambling? Does it matter if I ramble to myself? Am I rambling to myself?_

_Is anyone there? Anyone? If you're listening, speak up. Am I really the only one here? Hey, if you're Elkhon's Ghost and you're as corrupted as she is, screw you. Seriously. But if there's anyone else out there, Ghost or Guardian, we're here. My Guardian and I are here and alive and free. We're still standing. We're still kicking. We're still fighting._

_You can answer us. We're not your enemies. Nezarec is where our aim's at._

_My Guardian and I are listening. And we'd be glad to hear some friendly voices._

\- Xiān, Ghost of Ikharos Torstil, broadcasting on Ghost-encrypted wideband.

**000**

There was air of camaraderie in the lodge. It was their breather - a chance to relax before they threw themselves back into the fray.

Ikharos himself couldn't stave off the future. He knew he'd have to make his way back to the Cabal carrier and ensure the Hive A) didn't press outwards into the surrounding countryside and B) didn't recover from the grievous wound he dealt them. He was already looking at a posting that could potentially last for months. Brood exterminations were far from quick affairs. It took considerate planning, heavy firepower, and most of all: time.

Time the Harmony would be unlikely to give him. Time _Elkhon_ would be unlikely to give him.

He forcibly dragged his focus back on the scene playing out before him and banished all thoughts of _what's next?_

The sun had already fallen away, plunging them into a darkness staved off only by the silver moon and the dim werelights illuminating the balcony. Oh yes, the lodge had a little balcony, which had fast become his favourite place in all Du Weldenvarden. Quaint could cover a lot of things in Cirrane, but it was the perfect word for his newest hideaway. The only furniture present were three wicker chairs and a small circular table upon which he rested his glass of something-something wine.

It tasted like cherries. Sweet. Fruity. His mind was left slow and addled with the aftereffects. Not quite drunk, not yet, but inclined to do nothing else than sit still and dream. And oh, how he wanted to dream. To find for himself an escape from the all-consuming shadows of the carrier's innards.

When he closed his eyes, it was _their_ green eyes he saw. When he moved, it was _her_ knife that sank into his abdomen. He could still feel it - the all-consuming Darkness rippling around him.

Hive. Shades. Harmony. All in one night. They all saw him. They all knew what he was. And they would all gladly end both him and everything he stood to protect. He would have to destroy them - all of them. Otherwise he'd risk letting them ravage Kepler until nothing was left.

"Hive are more immediately worrying," he muttered to himself, "But the Harmony are too strong to ignore."

What was becoming increasingly clear was how underprepared he was. It wasn't just the lack of other Guardians that worried him. He hadn't the right equipment, nor the logistical support. Eris' expertise would have been extraordinarily useful. She would have found the weaknesses within both of the Dark sects and sent him to exploit them. Zavala's leadership would be equally instrumental in dismantling his foes.

Hell, he'd even have taken Asher's help. But none of them were around.

It was just him and his Ghost and his guns.

"That's where I'm going wrong," he mused. "Guns'll only get us so far. I'm not climbing the ladder as I am."

" _Your last sword broke_ ," Xiān reminded him. " _It wasn't good enough._ "

Ikharos scowled. " _It was a fantastic sword._ "

" _Sure. Still broke._ "

" _I didn't make it to kill Hive demigods._ "

" _Nah, just flimsy mortals._ "

" _The only flaw I can see is... well, it was a mortal weapon. Ingenious design, lacking on the paracausal potential._ "

" _Always links back to that, doesn't it?_ "

" _Those are the rules we play under. We can only ignore them at our own peril._ "

" _Peril with a capital P. Yep._ " She gave him a mental prod. " _Gonna make another one?_ "

" _I could steal a cleaver._ "

" _Or the big guy's axe._ "

" _Only way I could get that is out of his cold dead hands._ "

" _You almost got him the first time._ "

" _He's got friends of his own. I doubt they'll be content to watch me kill their Darkblade._ "

" _Repair Orúm?_ "

Ikharos gave the question some thought. " _Orúm may be the best blade I've ever had the chance to wield... but it still wouldn't be enough. It's got potential, sure, but no power of its own._ "

" _You could give it power._ "

He blinked. " _That's... not a bad idea._ "

" _Did I stumble onto something incredible?_ "

" _You may just have... The Sword Logic dictates that the strength of a fallen foe belongs to the victor, yes?_ "

" _You tell me._ "

" _Yes, it does._ "

" _Then why'd you ask?_ "

Ikharos ignored her. He was onto something. " _That's the whole reason I was a candidate as Taken King._ "

" _But you didn't._ "

" _Right, I didn't, but the option was there. A similar option is available to us, here and now._ "

" _... To become King?_ "

" _No. To gain the power of a vanquished foe._ " He paused. Dread slithered in. " _But... that's probably not the way to go about things._ "

" _I'm pretty sure it's the only way. Best way to kill something Dark is to kill it with its own weapons._ "

" _What if I start thinking it's the only way to do anything?_ "

" _You won't._ "

" _I'm not quite so certain._ "

" _You're too afraid of corruption to fall. You know what it looks like when people go Dark. You know how to avoid it._ "

" _Yeah, keep away from anything even remotely related to Hive. Couple of years too late for that._ "

" _You're not one of their gods._ "

" _No, but I'm certainly part of their mythology. I've had too many run-ins with their pantheon to escape notice._ "

" _And they're afraid of you._ "

" _Fear means little to Hive. A terrified Hive will fight just as fiercely as a brave one. They have no morale to crush. No spirit to break. Just as fearing their corruption won't stop it from happening._ "

" _Alright, fine, I give up._ "

" _Aw, c'mon, I need you to cheer me up._ "

" _Nope, can't, you're a permanent grouch._ "

" _Harsh_ _._ " He leaned back. His wicker chair groaned in that satisfying wooden-furniture way. He plucked his glass of wine from the table and delicately sipped it. The sweetness was dulled, and yet ever-present. Perfect, as everything created by elves was.

The door to the lodge opened. Chitters and barks filtered out. It wasn't a party, per se, but it was close. It was supper, and what Eliksni partook of it delighted in the ingesting of something more solid than meagre ether portions.

Ikharos craned his neck around, saw who it was, and went right back to nursing his drink. "Lady Láerdhon."

"Lord Torstil."

He grimaced. _Walked right into that._

Formora sat down on the chair beside him. No further words were exchanged. None needed to be.

" _You sure?_ "

" _Shut up._ "

" _There's one thing that can be-_ "

Ikharos leaned forward quickly, almost spilling his drink. Xiān's voice faded away with an insidious laugh. Formora glanced at him questioningly, but when he didn't answer she returned to stargazing.

He couldn't blame her for that. Even arrayed in unfamiliar positions, the distant celestial bodies were startlingly beautiful. Familiar strangers with whom he shared too many special memories to forget.

Formora lifted her hand and pointed. "The silver dhow."

Ikharos squinted. "Where?"

She guided his hand. "There."

And he saw it. A pale set of constellations arrayed like a curved arrow.

"We of _Älfakyn_ love the ocean," Formora murmured. "There is a wild freedom in it we find... relatable. To us, the wide waters are the key to the world's wonders. It is our purpose to forever seek out the paradise waiting where the ends of the sea meet the sky, and we have been searching for millennia. All one needs to begin the search is a silver ship and a skilled navigator."

Ikharos nodded understandingly. "The need to explore is strong. There is a certain kind of satisfaction in never walking the same routes. Every day is different. Every choice is a new one."

"You know this feeling." It wasn't a question.

"I've traveled across Eurasia, across Australis, across the Saharan Contested Zones. I've roamed across the inner worlds of Sol, and of the outer worlds it was their moons I trekked across. I've sailed on solar winds and through dust clouds just to reach the Kuiper Belt and wonder if I should go farther." He looked down, to the village just below the lodge. "And I did. Here I am. Over a hundred lightyears from the place I began. Yeah, I know how wanderlust feels."

"What is it like? To sail across the space between worlds?"

"Quiet. It's just so... quiet. There's a thousand other things I could say, but it's always quiet."

Ironically enough, there was very little conversation after that. Ikharos was content to hold his tongue, and he suspected Formora was as well. It was too pleasant a night to spoil with talks of war and conflict.

Alas, as the moon climbed its way up the sky, he had to force himself to break the silence. He was Risen and ultimately nothing without his wars, and what he had in mind was too important to let pass. She deserved to know. It was her decision to make, after all. "I have a plan."

"Oh? Should I say no?"

"You haven't even heard it yet."

"Your plans don't work."

Ikharos straightened. "My plans are brilliant."

"They almost always consist of going somewhere and killing something."

He hesitated. "Their simplicity belies their brilliance."

Formora exhaled slowly. "Of course they do. Well, what's your new plan? Does it involve killing something?"

"No it... Oh."

"It does?"

"In a way."

"'In a way'? What does that even mean?"

"It's already dead- _ish_. I'm just finishing off what remains. Maybe. I'm not entirely sure."

"What's the purpose of this... is it truly a plan?"

"Something wrong with calling it a plan?"

"Calling it a plan insinuates the use of careful consideration."

"Well, I'm considering you, so it's a plan."

"I don't... What?"

Ikharos took a breath. "We're heading off on a tangent. Let's start from the beginning. I have a plan - yes, a plan - and it hinges entirely on you giving me the go-ahead."

"What is it?"

"I need to make a sword."

Formora nodded slowly. "Ah. But you once told me firearms make swords obsolete."

"When did I say that?" Ikharos frowned.

"It may have been in Ceunon."

"Oh. Well, that's where the Cabal are concerned. I mean a sword to take to the Hive and Harmony. To use their Sword Logic against them."

"Would any sword work?"

"In theory. But a sword needs power, not just a strong hand."

"What happened to your blade? Your Edge?"

"Broodqueen shattered it."

"Unfortunate."

"Very." He shifted. "But I have this new sword already laid out. I know how to make it, I just..."

"What do you need?"

"Brightsteel."

Formora furrowed her brow. "Brightsteel is exceedingly rare."

"I know. Rhunön said the same."

"The only brightsteel left are those of Rider blades."

"... Yeah."

"You're not telling me everything. Say what you have to say, Ikharos."

"I want to reforge Orúm."

Formora stilled. "Orúm?"

Ikharos winced. "Yes. But it's entirely up to you. If you refuse, I won't do it. I'll... _try_ to find an alternative."

"Reforging Orúm. Not mending."

"Yes." Ikharos bit his tongue. He should have gone about telling her in a less obtuse way.

"And... would this sword remain as Orúm?"

"... No. It wouldn't."

"Why Orúm?" She gave him a piercing, searching look.

"Because I've never wielded anything quite like it. It fits me like no other weapon ever has." Almost. The cannon at his hip was the sole exception. "And it... it hits all the criteria."

"And what if you were to mend it instead?"

"It's a spectacular blade of immeasurable quality, but there's no power in it. Not as it is."

"Rider swords can split wards in twain. Is that not enough?"

"Wards aren't the only defenses to worry about," Ikharos explained. "Our enemies wield greater magic. Darker magic. Physical prowess is only one aspect of this war, and it'll only go so far. To strike down a god, one must employ godly powers."

"You would worship the Sword Logic?"

"The Sword Logic isn't a fanciful religion. There are no muttered prayers or pointless rituals. All my fears about it stem from the fact that it is a proven pillar of the universe. Yes, I am an unwilling and inadvertent worshipper of the Sword Logic." Ikharos looked away. "It's how we killed Crota. It's how we killed Oryx. It's how we killed Xol. And, when it comes to it, it'll be how we bring down Nezarec."

Formora's jaw tightened. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. She wasn't pleased.

"It's my brother's sword."

"I know. The choice is yours."

"Do I even have a choice?"

Ikharos shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe I could work with another. But that would defeat the purpose."

"And what purpose is that?"

"Working the power of those I'd slain into the blade that felled them."

Formora stared at him. "The Aphelion."

Ikharos solemnly dipped his head. "Yes."

"... You intend to turn my brother's sword into a monument to murder."

"Yes."

"If I give you another blade, could you power it with something else? Hive?"

"Nothing short of the Darkblade could come near what the Aphelion offers. And he's got too many friends around for me to catch him out."

"Psekisk. _Thornessa fyrn er malabra_. _Vaet fjandeya hrinda theirra daeamr ástarnan äthr nosu_."

"I wish it were otherwise," Ikharos mumbled.

"Is this necessary?"

Ikharos hesitated. "It's... the easiest way to hijack the Sword Logic."

"What are the other ways?"

"Stealing Nezarec's very own spear or mastering control over Hive Soulfire. I don't know where the spear is, or if I can even wield it, and as for Soulfire... well, I'd need to ask a Wizard to teach me, but no way is that happening." The idea of petitioning Dûl Incaru for some lessons briefly popped into his head. Ikharos swiftly shot them down. Even if she _was_ willing (and he most certainly wasn't), he'd have to wait another year or so for the Dreaming City's curse to restart all over again. Kepler's time dilation was not working out in his favour.

Or maybe it was. He could look forward to not seeing a Witch in his sleep for a whole year. Yay.

"And," Ikharos continued uncertainly, "a death-empowered sword might just be what I need to put Elkhon down." He put his now very empty glass back on the table and held out his hands. "I understand if you don't want me to. The sword _is_ yours, so-"

"No." Formora cut him. She looked pained to say it. "It's yours. I gave it to you."

"You don't-"

"We all have to make sacrifices. And... I think Kialandí would have agreed with you."

Ikharos inclined his head. "Thank you," he said softly. He waited for a few moments before asking, "What was he like?"

"Kialandí? I don't know. He was my brother. He was calm. Where I was headstrong, he was collected. Where I was reckless, he was methodical. He cared. For everything and everyone. And Galbatorix... broke him for it." Her hands balled into fists. "Broke both of us. Only, Kialandí couldn't suffer the thought of pretending all was well after we were absorbed into the Wyrdfell. Not like I did." She sucked in a deep breath. "He was my friend."

"You still mourn him."

"I'm the only one who will."

Ikharos didn't know what to say to that. Exile was one thing, but complete ostracization? He'd never been so unlucky as to draw the universal hate of the people he called his own. He'd made more than a few enemies of fellow Risen, but he'd drawn friends and allies too, particularly in the last century. The City had been good for that.

Loss, though, was something he knew only too well. How many times had he buried a loved one? How many times had he watched others fall around him? Far too many. And he'd learned nothing from it. Even immortality couldn't snuff out the human need for social interaction.

He was naught but an indestructible vehicle overly laden down with all sorts of mortal weaknesses. Same went for Formora, in a way. And all supposed immortals.

"May I have it?" Formora quietly asked.

"Orúm?" When she nodded, Ikharos had Xiān transmat both parts of the broken sword into his hands. In the dim night light, the shimmering purple blade looked like liquid shadow, writhing just as a real serpent would.

Formora took both parts and delicately fitted them together. "How vastly would you change it?"

Ikharos shrugged. "The framework and dimension would be the same, but what soul it has will be different."

"Weapons don't have souls. They are mere tools."

"Tell that to the Hive."

"They are horrible, twisted, evil creatures. Their beliefs are not mine."

"Oh yeah, you fought some." Ikharos jumped on the chance to change the subject. The Orúm talk had been more troublesome than he'd envisioned. "And you killed a Knight?"

"I did." Formora offered him a blank look. "What of it?"

"Did... it go alright?"

"No."

"Oh?"

"It almost killed me." She took a deep breath. "But I won't make the same mistake again. The Hive are stronger than I thought them to be. Now that I know how they fight, I will fare better in future."

"Are _you_ alright?"

"As much as I can be," Formora muttered unhappily.

Ikharos winced - again. "I'm sorry. Well, for this... can we call it a conversation? For this troubled discussion if not anything else." He gestured to the door. "Me lumping all this on you was probably a... yeah."

"Your mastery over word craft never ceases to astound me," Formora deadpanned. Her tone softened. "I understand. I do. And I don't begrudge you your efforts to better our chances. Your intentions are pure. Even if I disagree with you, know that I recognize that."

"Thank you."

She reached out and briefly touched his shoulder. _I hear you._ "Now hush. We were supposed to leave all worries and preparations for the morrow. Tonight we delight in simple joys."

"I think the morrow has already arrived." Ikharos glanced up at the moon. "We're well past midnight."

"Hush, I said. Let us forget our woes and meet the stars."

He closed his mouth and didn't dare utter another word. Ikharos listened and watched as she introduced him to all the major constellations that shone through Kepler's darkened skies. Sleep was a distant memory - unnecessary, forgotten, and unwanted. Especially when he had this to attend in its stead.

* * *

The Skiff that was to collect them was to arrive at midday. Nyreks had called it in. Bereft anything else to do, Ikharos took the chance to wander around Cirrane at his own leisurely pace. No one bothered him. No one stopped him. No one called him out. It was nice.

That wasn't to say he went unnoticed. Though the resident elves were quiet and quick, he could always pick out the stray movement on the corner of his vision betraying a watcher.

Ikharos came to recognize how fascinated he was with elves. An uneasy fascination, certainly, but eager too. They were... just so different. In a way, he felt a sort of kinship towards them. They were immortals in the land of the short-lived, living hand-in-hand with forces beyond physical scope. They weren't quite as showy or powerful as his own kind, which was probably for the better, but they were far from helpless.

Even without the magic, they drew his eye. Their bodily speed outpaced his by quite a margin. A part of him - the anthropologist - came to the conclusion that not only were they sporting less biomass than other human species, but their bones were lighter. Which, coupled with the boost of dragon-magic, allowed them to attain their graceful statures. Their strength belied their thin frames, and though it wasn't on the level of Risen it was largely beyond what other humans and neohumans were capable of.

Those boosts in physical prowess never ceased to surprise him. Ikharos was used to encountering either equally powerful Risen or less able humans - not something in between. It was... disconcerting in some ways. It paved the way to the realization of having underestimated how far the Lightless could go, even if only subconsciously.

" _These your perfect people?_ " Xiān teased.

Ikharos mentally shrugged. " _Don't mistake my fascination for admiration. They aren't flawless._ "

" _Just in terms of foreign relations or..._ "

" _In how they drift through life, seeing only to themselves and utterly content to let everything else be driven into the ground. It's their attitude I take issue with._ "

" _Maybe that can't be helped. What would Guardians at large do if there weren't any Hive or Eliksni to fight?_ "

" _Fight each other, undoubtedly._ "

" _So we're more violent?_ "

" _We are, yes. We were designed to be weapons for a dying god. Violence is intrinsic to the birth of every Guardian. We wake up with roars on our lips and hands grasping at weapons we shouldn't possibly know how to wield._ "

" _And what of the elves? If the Harmony really had a hand in their creation, as they did with the dwarves, what do you think it was for?_ "

" _No idea. Gardeners, maybe. Elves are good at that._ "

She fell silent. Ikharos idly strolled on, taking in all the warped sights of elf-touched forest. The lull in conversation didn't last forever.

" _Ikharos._ "

" _Xiān._ "

" _Can we talk?_ "

" _A serious discussion?_ " He smiled - gently, warmly, adoringly. Though she couldn't see it, he made sure she felt it. " _Of course._ "

" _You like Formora._ "

" _Oh..._ " His smile fell. " _That kind of talk. I've changed my mind._ "

" _Wait, wait, shut up, let me talk. I like her too. I mean, probably not in the same way._ "

" _Is this... Is this the start to a jealous rant?_ "

" _You know, I can't physically throw up, but if I could now would be the opportune moment. Wow, imagine throwing up... All those delicious sensations..._ "

" _Please stop._ "

" _Anyways, yeah, I think she's cool. I mean, she's killed a Knight and two Ahamkara. That's badass._ "

Ikharos tried so very hard to evict the other voice in his head, but she had her claws dug in deep. " _Stop._ "

" _We need to talk about this. I decided now._ "

" _Stop._ "

" _Ikharos, buddy-_ "

" _Don't call me buddy_."

" _-you've only ever had one other real relationship and... well, you were a fumbling idiot. Still are, by the way._ "

" _That really hurts. Now leave me alone so I can work out my feelings._ "

" _'Fraid not. We're discussing this._ "

" _No. We are not._ "

" _Have you any idea what to do? Because you're going to need a whole lot of help._ "

" _Okay, that's actually hurtful._ "

" _You have no charm. No suave. Nothing. And you're not pretty enough to let your looks do all the work. Pretty much all you have going for you is a killer honesty and kicked-puppy personality._ "

" _Seriously, shut up._ "

" _Can't. I'm your wingman. No, wing-Ghost!_ "

" _I'd rather ask Melkris._ "

" _He's an Eliksni._ "

" _And you're a Ghost._ "

" _... Are you saying Ghosts are inferior to Eliksni?_ "

" _I never said that. You're twisting my words._ "

" _But you insinua-_ "

Ikharos groaned. " _Honestly, Xiān, stop. Just stop! I really, really DON'T want to talk about this with you._ "

" _Well, I have to live with it. Your pining is driving me mad_."

" _Pining sounds so... pathetic. It's not pining._ "

" _Then what is it?_ "

" _Attraction. Affection. Admiration._ "

" _Triple A, cool. And all of 'em are synonyms for pining._ "

" _Ghost is a synonym for headache._ "

" _Ha. You're pining._ "

" _No._ "

" _Fine. Longing._ "

" _Sounds desperate. I'm not desperate._ "

" _Yearning?_ "

" _Still a tad weird. But closer to the mark_."

" _Wistful?_ "

" _Sounds too passive._ "

" _You are passive_ ," Xiān retorted.

Ikharos blinked. " _What?_ "

" _You. Are. Passive. For such an honest, upfront guy, you're way too subtle about this. Way too... lax._ "

" _And? That's just who I am._ "

" _Be... not-passive._ "

" _Aggressive? That's-_ "

" _No, not aggressive. You only get aggressive with things you want to kill._ "

He grunted. " _Astute observation._ "

" _Somewhere in between... How about assertive?_ "

" _Still sounds too aggressive_ _._ "

" _Sweet Traveler above, I'm not a damn dictionary. You know what I mean._ "

" _I... honestly don't. The hell do you want?_ "

" _For you to stop beating around the bush and say something!_ "

" _I'm not sure if I want to._ "

" _Oh, you're nervous._ "

" _Uncertain._ "

" _But not of acceptance?_ "

" _If she doesn't reciprocate, that's fair and I'll cease every effort on that front. What I'm worried about is... is the wisdom of even trying._ "

A short silence stretched between them. " _I miss Zahl too. He was kind._ "

" _Immeasurably._ "

* * *

_Blue skin alight with shifting rays of starglow. Two gold eyes, full of healing. A man who could cause no pain, no damage, no death._

_It made him feel like a monster. He sought redemption in every act of goodwill towards those who sheltered in the bunker. It never felt like it was enough._

_But the healer tried to convince him otherwise. Delicate whispers, tender embraces, a kiss._

* * *

" _But that was a different time and a different place. And... a different person._ " Xiān's voice was soft. A familiar warmth accompanied it. He embraced it.

" _Zahl's gone. Josef is gone. Lennox is gone. People end. The endings always hurt._ "

" _They do. I guess that's the cost of living._ "

" _This isn't Eden._ " Ikharos gradually slowed to a stop. " _Simply living encourages pain. It's unavoidable._ "

" _Sounds like you're trying to convince yourself._ "

" _I don't know anymore. I like to think that I deserve a break from all this... hate. All this violence._ "

" _You do. Which is why I'm saying go ahead. Nervous or not, take this chance. Go._ "

" _... No. I'll need to think about it. And many other things._ "

" _All you ever do is think. It gets so loud in here._ "

" _Feel free to leave._ "

" _Nah. You'll need my input._ "

" _Debatable. Highly debatable._ " A flicker of motion caught his attention. Ikharos sharply turned around, fingers dipping into the nullscape for scraps of nothingness, but it was nothing more than an overconfident blackbird scouring the ground for tasty insects. He muttered, aloud, " _Fethrblaka_ , _flauga eom iet lam_. _Eka weohnata néiat haina onr_."

The bird lifted its head, regarded him with one beady black eye, and decided why not? with a very avian chirp. It fluttered to his hand and tilted its little head expectantly.

"I haven't any food for you," Ikharos patiently told it.

The blackbird filled his ears with a series of disappointed whistles and flew off.

" _Nice._ "

" _Shut up._ "

* * *

The Skiff landed in a nearby field, not even attempting to be subtle. Ikharos and Formora followed Nyreks and his soldiers aboard. Melkris excitedly yapped about all the times he'd crashed while in identical vessels, right up to the point he was told to shut his trap. Beraskes glared at him from across the ship's hold, clicking under her breath about how she'd get even with him.

All in all, it went about just as he expected it to. No ambushes, no storms, no nightmares. The universe was finally cutting him a break.

The flight itself was just as uneventful. The weather was light and calm, making for smooth sailing. Ikharos found comfort in the gentle tremble of the Skiff around them. It almost lulled him to sleep. He'd always felt more at home in a jumpship than what tiny apartments had been provided for him in the City and the Vestian Outpost. There was something to be said for the safety of one's own personal spacecraft, out of sight and out of reach of all worldly foes.

It couldn't have been more than a couple of hours later that the Skiff set down. The rear opened up. Ikharos disembarked, marveling in the din outside of roaring engines and alien barks. A camp had been erected on the edge of Du Weldenvarden. Eleven other Skiffs had been left nearby, standing on insectoid docking stilts like fat wingless dragonflies.

His first thought: there were a lot of Eliksni. More than a couple crews' worth. Barring those with Palkra in Surda and Drotos in Ellesméra, it was all of Tarrhis' loyalists gathered in one spot. The ground was dry and cracked with having been harvested for ether and glimmer. Some tents had been set up, all red and gold.

Ikharos sucked the fresh air and stretched his shoulders. _This_ was something he understood. Something he knew. Something he could handle. He understood Eliksni far better than he did elves, and he found a strange sort of solace in being among them again. When he listened to their calls, when he saw their eyes blink and mandibles shake, he _understood_.

Maybe these were his perfect people.

A pity he would never be able to forget the horrors their sister-Houses had inflicted upon innocent men, women, and children. Some things couldn't be forgiven, and it was hard not to write off an entire race for the deeds of a couple of bloodthirsty clans.

Still, it was nice to hear Eliksni again. Human languages were perfectly reasonable, and the ancient language was direct and impactful, but the twin dialects of Eliksni were malleable. It could be formed into the most terrifying tongue ever spoken, or lightened to a gentle lullaby. It was basic, and yet more sophisticated than even the chief dialect of Ulurant.

Plus, it was just plain easy to comprehend. For him in any case. At the very least, his time spent slaughtering Devils taught him how to read Eliksni expressions, and that was the key to the entire language.

"You're cheerful," Formora observed.

Ikharos shrugged and gestured to the small town of tents, burrows, trenches, Skiffs, and Walkers. "This is familiar territory. These are familiar people. And familiarity doesn't stress me out." Elkhon sprung to mind. "Mostly."

Their arrival hadn't gone unnoticed. The Eliksni treated it with the same casual attitude any warband would for a returning scout vessel, but the moment Ikharos and Formora had disembarked there were surprised chirps from the nearest technicians. Three spear-toting Vandals approached, outer eyes fluttering and heads lowered.

" _Velask_ , _Ikha Riis pak Kirzen_ ," the first greeted with a bow.

Ikharos answered with a much less formal, " _Vel_." He looked around, scanning for anything familiar. Nothing, nothing, and then two wing-like horns sprouting from an ivory and gold helmet reared over the heads of the Vandals

Kiphoris was just the same. Still clad in immaculate armour and cloak. Still bright-eyed and with a healthy sway to his ether-rich limbs. A part of Ikharos had thought that maybe, _maybe_ , the Scar Captain wouldn't have come out of their trip into the carrier without a few wounds of his own, but Kiphoris stood unmarked and whole.

" _Ikha Riis_ ," he rumbled with a slight inclination of his head. His outer eyes briefly closed. "You are not dead."

"Seems not."

Kiphoris turned his head a fraction. " _Formora pak Zeshus_. You are more lively than when we left you."

She touched her lips. " _Atra esterní ono thelduin_ , _Kiphoris-Vor_. I have had ample time to regain my strength."

He brought two fingers up to his rebreather to mirror the gesture. "That is good. Come! _Tarrhis-Mrelliks pak Denaan_ will want us to speak." Kiphoris looked back at Ikharos. "And there is much to discuss, yes?"

* * *

A pavilion had been set up in the centre of the camp. The walls and ceiling were formed from a massive banner of the House of Scar. Within, a portable holodesk and radio terminals had been set up. Tarrhis stood on the far side, in all his massive glory. His helm's broad horns gleamed with polish, hanging over four burning eyes. A red-scaled pelt had been thrown over one shoulder. He was large, even for a Baron, and every movement rippled with incredible strength. Enough to tear an unfortunate human in two barehanded.

" _Velask_ ," Tarrhis boomed. His voice was deep enough to rattle Ikharos's bones. "Welcome, Machine-Envoy."

" _Velask_." Ikharos performed a _miurlis_ salute.

The other Eliksni, Sundrass, offered Ikharos little more than a single disinterested glance. A cloak of dark Urzhad-fur hung from her shoulders. Her helm's wide, fan-like crest was just as polished as those of the other nobles. " _Vel_ ," she grunted unhappily.

Ikharos didn't return it. He didn't trust himself not to sneak in a barb.

The tent smelled strongly, almost overpoweringly, of ether. Each breath invited a strange ticklish sensation at the back of his throat. A low hum emanated from the cables leading from the machinery to out from under the pavilion's far wall. He could feel the power flowing through it with his bare Light. The Arc-insulators weren't as tightly fastened as they should have been. It was like standing on a knife edge, so close to danger but still, miraculously, in the clear. In short: the tent had Eliksni handiwork written all over it.

Kiphoris marched to the left of the holotable and took up position opposite Sundrass. They exchanged a series of subdued chirps and flashing blinks. Ikharos respectfully tried not to follow what was being said. It was of a personal nature.

But it reminded him not all present were of the same tongue. Ikharos turned to Formora. "Need a translator?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms. "I wager I can follow a bulk of what is said."

"Suit yourself." He switched back to Eliksni and said, to Tarrhis, "I have a gift for you."

"Oh?" The Baron leaned forward.

Ikharos held out a hand and summoned Xiān. She, in turn, transmatted the Broodqueen's head onto the table. It dropped with a wet smack. "Just what you asked for."

Sundrass and Kiphoris went dead silent. The latter gingerly tapped at one of the Broodqueen's horns with a claw and pulled away, as if afraid it would bite back. Tarrhis had no such qualms. He grasped the grisly trophy, held it up, and bellowed with genuine laughter.

"A grand gift indeed!" Tarrhis roared. Ikharos' ears rang. Beside him, Formora flinched and muttered an obscure spell under her breath. "I treasure this, _Kirzen_. You have earned mine-respect. She must have been a mighty foe."

Ikharos hesitated. "The real issue was actually getting close enough. She had a big family."

Tarrhis sobered up. " _Eia_ , so I understand. And some yet live."

"Some yet live," Ikharos echoed with a grimace. "I'd like to rectify that."

"You have scarcely recovered from death. You seek to throw yourself against the Maw's puppets again?"

"Better sooner than later. Before the other Wizards start spawning."

Kiphoris made a clicking sound with his teeth and mandibles. " _Eia_ , we have spoken of this already, _Kirzen_. It appears we are not alone in desiring an end to the Hive."

There was a question hidden within the statement. Ikharos picked up on it and sighed. "You want to know about Elkhon?"

Kiphoris tilted his head. "Is that its name? I thought-"

"It's a Shade. Not the same person as the original. Kelf's as good as dead." It hurt to say it. A multitude of bitter emotions boiled and frothed in his heart: disappointment, fear, and - yes, even shame. Shame that his people weren't strong enough. Shame that the Light he lived by all his life wasn't strong enough. Kelf hadn't just died; she'd handed Nezarec and his cult the most powerful weapon in her arsenal. Herself.

He idly wondered if he'd make the same mistake. _I can't let that happen. No matter what, I can't let myself turn to the Dark. I'd sooner die than let them have me._

"Can you kill it?" Tarrhis questioned.

It may have been a yes-or-no question, but Ikharos still struggled to find an answer. "I don't know. I've tried, but we're... not easy to kill. Her being a Shade overcomplicates things. If she dies, she's got options. So... I don't know. Maybe."

Tarrhis clicked-clicked-clicked. "That is not encouraging."

"No." Ikharos's shoulders dropped. "It's not."

"Shade is not alone," Sundrass growled. "Silver warriors stalked among Hive. They slew many. They stole the Wish-Beast."

"The Harmony." Ikharos nodded slowly. "They're strong, quick, and probably have some magic up their sleeves."

"Magic." Tarrhis looked at Kiphoris. "How fares our barters with the elf-humans?"

Kiphoris straightened his spine and lifted his chin. "Slowly, mine-Baron. I... did not have a chance to press mine-offers. I imagine Drotos fares better than I."

"We need this magic. And we need more. More weapons. More machines." The Baron sounded wistful. "More Skiffs. Ketch."

Ikharos grunted. "Yeah, a Ketch would come in real handy. Demo the carrier from close orbit. Burn the Hive into the open for Skiffs to pick off." He looked around the table and cleared his throat. "I've been out a few days. What's the situation? What's the plan?"

"No plan," Sundrass hissed. "We have waited for you."

"How sweet." He tried not to smile too smugly. If looks could kill, he'd be in dire need of a rez. "And the situation? Are the Harmony making themselves a nuisance?"

"From what we can tell," Kiphoris began in a careful, neutral tone, "they have pulled back. Many Hive are dead to their blades, but silver warriors have fallen too. Worms tear at their corpses. Wizards continue to scream. Knights roam their new nest with readied blades."

"Krinok?"

"Still quiet."

"Anything else?"

"Cabal live."

 _That_ caught his attention. He tore his focus from Sundrass to Kiphoris. "But... the Hive killed them all."

Kiphoris shook his head and pressed a button on the table's terminal. A blaring message in grunting Uurant played through the speakers, marred by static. " _-authorizing relocation of all Imperial forces to Sector AE17. Repeat, Primus down, Flayers authorizing relocation of all Imperial forces to Sector AE17. Repeat, Primus down, Flayers authorizing-_ "

"I've heard enough." Ikharos frowned. Kiphoris dutifully switched it off. "So there's survivors. How many?"

"We do not know," the Captain reported, "but they will be desperate and angry - and soon hungry."

"That doesn't bode well."

" _Nama_. It does not. But we hold an advantage over them."

"And what would that be?"

"We have prisoners, _Kirzen_ ," Tarrhis muttered distastefully. "Cabal prisoners. Loud, unhappy, unspeaking prisoners."

Ikharos nodded, slowly. Prisoners was good. Prisoners meant getting some results. "I can make them speak, if you'll allow me."

"That would be..." Kiphoris looked at Tarrhis. The Baron motioned almost lazily: _go ahead_. "Appreciated, _Kirzen_. Mine-methods have not yet raised any meaningful answers." He reached to his belt and procured a small datapad. "Mine-Baron, may we see to this?"

"Wait," Tarrhis ordered. He looked not at Ikharos, but at Formora. "Zeshus, remain."

" _Tarrhis-Mrelliks_?" She questioned uncertainly in halting Low Speak.

The Scar Baron closed his outer eyes. " _Eia_ , you. Events expedite around us. Perhaps there is wisdom in this scheme of _Kiphoris-Veskirisk_. I have decided to personally see it through."

"Mine-Baron?" Kiphoris tilted his head. He lowered it when Tarrhis' eyes flicked over to him.

" _Eia_ , your grasp at power for our banner. There is truth in it, and I will not allow us to dawdle any further. Mine-Scars must have power. Must." Tarrhis rolled his upper shoulders. "I will make our demands myself before _Islanzadí-kel_."

"Tarrhis-Baron, with mine-respect-"

"Elf-humans are not our foe. You have extended a hand in friendship, yes?"

Kiphoris chittered. " _Eia_ , I have."

"And _Drotos-Achris_ has been given safe conduct?"

"He has. Elf-humans will not attack out of malice. But... they do not like others entering their lands without permission."

"Then ask for permission, Dreamer. Or have Drotos ask for it. Regardless, I will meet with these humans and barter for their secrets." He paused. " _Eia_ , you may go."

Kiphoris bowed again. Ikharos did not. Instead, he gave Formora a meaningful, questioning look. She nodded and waved him out.

He and Kiphoris left awkwardly, neither truly satisfied with how the discussion had ended. They ducked outside the tent, and Ikharos followed the Captain's lead. Only when he was satisfied they were completely out of earshot, he said, "Psekisk."

Kiphoris chuckled. "Maybe," he murmured in English. Probably for the better.

"You don't think so?"

"What do you think Tarrhis is? Hungry for recognition like Skolas? Hungry for battle like Taniks? Hungry for blood like Solkis? _Nama_ , he is the best of all nobles: truly caring for his people."

"What about other peoples?"

"He is no callous murderer. Tarrhis will not break laws of diplomacy. Even with those who are not Eliksni. I trust him not to."

"And if he does?"

"Then I have placed mine-trust in the wrong House." Kiphoris slowed his pace. "I have learned since Skolas. There is no one more reliable than mine-self. Do not presume me incapable of criticizing those who lead me."

"Would you do it openly?"

"... Only if certain lines are crossed and I believe them open to redemption."

Ikharos accepted that. "So..."

"You have recovered?"

"Somewhat."

"Ah, it had shaken you. I do not see this as a defeat. It is a good thing we know what we face, rather than to walk blindly into an ambush."

"We have too many enemies. And all of them are more than capable of snuffing us out."

"Then you know what it is to be Eliksni." Kiphoris glanced at him. "To be set upon by enemies on all sides."

Ikharos held his tongue. The conversation was going a dangerous route he really didn't want to see through. Particularly not with Kiphoris. The clever Captain wasn't someone he wanted to make an enemy of. Especially not when they had such a beautifully awkward partnership playing out between them.

"How'd you get the prisoners?"

"They were holding off Hive in the bridge. They could not hold off me."

"That's some bravado you got there."

"After all your posturing, surely I can do some of mine-own."

"Posturing?" Ikharos raised an eyebrow.

"Taking on the Broodqueen alone."

"You agreed with me."

"I did. My mistake."

"It really wasn't." Ikharos jutted a thumb back towards the command tent. "You saw the head, right?"

"I did."

"She's dead. I killed her."

"How close was it?" Kiphoris looked at him. Through him.

Ikharos' good mood evaporated. He sighed. "Too close. I took too long. Her kin came to the rescue. The Harmony's distraction gave me the chance to finish her off, but without them... I don't know. Still, I almost got the Darkblade too."

"Is he at death's door?"

"Probably not. Just in tatters and burned to hell. He's not going to forget me anytime soon."

"The victory we struck may have been tenuous, but it was well-struck. You will be gladdened to know that I completed my task and," he gestured to another tent, some distance from the one they'd left, "accomplished even more."

"You want a pat on the back?"

Kiphoris blinked innocently. " _Nama_ , but I appreciate your offer." He stopped by the entrance. Two Vandals armed with shock rifles saluted them. A buzzing beacon had been embedded in the earth just outside the tent. "Shall I accompany you, or-"

"No, I'll do this alone." Ikharos paused. "Anything I should know?"

"They are of the Worldbreaker Legion. One of the Psions is a Flayer."

"Noted."

"And... one of the Uluru is quarrelsome. It has caused trouble in every interrogation I've pressed. If you need it silenced..." Kiphoris trailed off.

"I'll call if there's trouble," Ikharos replied non-committedly. A thought struck him. "Are the Psions oppressed?"

"Oppressed?"

"Does their indentured service chafe? Are they slaves?"

"All Psions are slaves to Cabal."

"Yeah, but some take to the army life more readily than others. A dissatisfied conscript'll be easier to wring answers out of than a loyal officer."

"I do not know. None of them provide me with clear answers, even under duress."

"Then maybe duress is the wrong way to go about it." Ikharos took in a deep breath. "Right then," he said, and he slipped inside.

* * *

Seven Cabal. Four of them massive Uluru, and the remaining three slender Psions. Their armour had been stripped from them, leaving them in protective biosuits. Arc-bindings wound around their arms and kept them from attempting escape (or killing the guards). They sat upon the dusty, dry ground in a disparate huddle and glanced up as he entered.

Despite the alien features, despite the scowls and glares, despite it all Ikharos found it within himself to feel a shred of sympathy. They looked diminished and beaten. But it was just a shred. They were Cabal, after all. They signed up to fight and potentially die

One of Uluru made a choking, growling sound. "Merida-X8."

Scowls deepened. Glares intensified. One of the Psions, the farthest one, cowered under raised, bound arms.

"My reputation precedes me," Ikharos muttered un Ulurant. He caught a few surprised looks. "Oh yeah, I can speak."

"Murderer," one of the Uluru spat. Ikharos wondered if she was the troublemaker Kiphoris had warned him about.

"Funny. Didn't you attack and kill my people first? I smell hypocrisy." Ikharos crouched down in front of the first Psion. The cyclops wheezed from its spiracles. Its skin was wet with - what? Sweat? Mucus? Moisture gathered from the surrounding air? One of the three. "Hungry?"

It didn't answer him. None of them did.

"I'll take that as a yes. Eliksni may only need ether, but we need our solids, don't we?"

Still nothing.

Ikharos clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Awful talkative. Here, give me a moment." A couple of seedlings transmatted into an outstretched hand. He pressed them into the ground. "Now, I've never done this before, so..." He closed his eyes and, in a low voice, whispered, " _Eldhrimner_. _Máttr nosu vethr_."

A handful of thin green stalks speared out of the ground and sprouted curling, reaching limbs. Leaves blossomed, forming a tiny little bush. Beautiful, succulent, red fruit bloomed. Ikharos picked a strawberry and, once he was sure he had everyone's undivided attention, took a bite out of it. The fruit's flesh crunched between his teeth. Rich flavour burst across his tongue. It smelled - and tasted - divine, overpowering even the stagnant smog of black oil.

He picked another and tossed it. The closest Psion deftly caught it between his bound hands. It stared at him. Ikharos couldn't tell if it was merely surprised or genuinely angry. Its facial features were just so... odd. Eliksni had four eyes and Uluru had two, and though both were far from human their expressions were relatively simple to understand. A one-eyed Psion? Miles apart.

It held the fruit up, studied it with its strange eye, and then looked back at him. "What is this?"

"Food," Ikharos said blandly. He held up his own ravaged strawberry. "See?"

"What is good for you, human," it began in its high-pitched voice. Somehow it sounded snide. "May not be good for me."

"You're clairvoyant, right?"

No response.

"Can you foresee yourself choking on strawberries?"

And yet more silence. Angry silence. Ikharos exhaled and sat down fully, crossing his legs. "Anyone who wants to eat can just ask. It's here if you want some. No tricks, no lies, no ulterior motive."

"But there is." Another Uluru roused itself. He was bigger than all the others. He reminded Ikharos of the Red Legion's Gladiators, all densely packed muscle and menacing glare. "You want something."

"Of course. I want answers to my questions."

"Your questions? Or Eliksni questions?"

"Same thing, I imagine. But I'm willing to wait. And, in the meantime, we can be civil with one another. We're all sapient. We're all capable of reason."

"Barbarians," a third Uluru muttered.

Ikharos pursed his lips. "And I could call you monstrous brutes, but that would be petty. We've all got bigger problems, and throwing around childish insults does no one any favours."

There was a soft squelching sound. The Psion had taken a small bite of the strawberry. Its eye flashed with shock. The other Psions called to it in their own strange language. It whispered back a reassurance: it was fine.

"See?" Ikharos leaned forward. "Not so bad, right?"

It still refused to answer him and nibbled away. The Y-pupiled eye never turned from him. Ikharos squinted at it - there was always something different about Psions, beyond the obvious. Something beyond the scope of mortal flesh and blood. A hidden power. A morsel of otherworldly reach.

And it was suffering. The orange-blue light behind the eye flickered at the edges. The manifested pupil (for it wasn't a physical thing, but a projection of its mind) shimmered uncontrollably.

Ikharos decided on a new tact there and then. He could already see the dangers in it. Formora would tell him off, if she were there to hear it. Had anyone else proposed it, _he_ would have ridiculed it. But since it was coming from _him_...

" _Bad idea_ ," Xiān told him. She sounded bored.

" _Are you going to stop me?_ "

" _Not a chance. I want to see where this goes._ "

" _Comforting._ " Ikharos got to his feet and left the tent. Kiphoris turned around and spared him a curious look.

"You were quick."

"I'm not finished." He looked around. "Where's your neurojammers?"

The Captain ran a claw over the buzzing beacon. "Here."

"Move it away. Say... twenty yards. And move yourselves with it. You probably won't want to stick around."

Kiphoris halted in place. All four eyes were wide with disbelief, dismay, and disapproval. "That is a poor idea."

"Probably," Ikharos agreed, "but I think I deserve a lesson in humility, don't I?"

"What advantage could it possibly bring you?"

"They, and I, will come to an understanding. They fear consequences. I need to show them that the consequences of helping us won't hurt them."

"... I will not promise that." Kiphoris narrowed his inner eyes. His lower hands drifted to the blades sheathed at his hips.

"Then I'm going to have to formally ask you to deliver them into my custody." Ikharos crossed his arms. "I'll go to Tarrhis if I have to."

Kiphoris growled unhappily. "They are Cabal. Warmongers. Tyrants."

"I know. I know. And I know. Now please move those 'jammers."

* * *

Ikharos returned to the inside of the tent, sat back down and picked himself another strawberry. He ate in silence, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Wait-

The Psions tensed. All three at once. They could feel it. The neurojammers moving away. Freedom flowing back into their minds. The Uluru were blissfully unaware, all content to grumble and snark in Ikharos' direction. He didn't listen to them. He just... waited.

The one eating a strawberry struck first. Thoughts as sharp as a needle and as heavy as a warhammer slammed into him. His eyes shuttered; Ikharos had to scramble his way into the nullscape and hold on tight as a wave of ice-cold Intention crashed against him.

His defenses held. But cracks appeared. And through those cracks filtered scraps of-

ꊰꋬ꒒꒒ ꊰꋬ꒒꒒ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐꒒꒒ ꊰꋬ꒒꒒ ꋬ꒒ꄲꋊꏂ ꃳ꒒꒐ꋊ꒯ ꒯ꏂꋬꊰ ꃳꋪꄲꀘꏂꋊ

Ikharos gritted his teeth and dropped his head into his hands. His blood roared in his ears. His skull felt like it was going to crack. _NonononoIwontIwontIwontfallIwont-_

ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐꒒꒒ ꃳꋪꏂꋬꀘ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐꒒꒒ ꇙꁝꋬ꓄꓄ꏂꋪ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐꒒꒒ ꊰꋬ꒒꒒ ꌦꄲ꒤ ꅐ꒐꒒꒒ ꒯꒐ꏂ ꒯꒐ꏂ ꒯꒐ꏂ ꒯꒐ꏂ

_IwontIwontIwontIwontjustlistenjustlistentheyareouttheretheywill-_

ꋊꄲ ꇙ꒐꒒ꏂꋊꉔꏂ ꇙ꒐꒒ꏂꋊꉔꏂ ꒯꒐ꏂ

_Shut up!_

The nullscape rippled. Void roared - not out of anger, not out of fear, it just roared for the sake of roaring. The Psion ceased all efforts. It slumped over, exhausted. Ikharos gasped for breath. Rivulets of sweat ran down his neck, his back, his arms. "I'm not here to..."

He braced. But the next Psion, the farthest one away, did not so much press the attack as it did probe towards him. It found the spherical fortress around his mind and he could taste its shock. It saw him. He saw it. Even wrapped in fear, even garbed in malnutrition, its mind was as bright as a star. Compared to it, he was merely a rogue rogue planet making a play for fame by orbiting a growing black hole. No one would notice him. No one would know his daring.

But the Psion would be remembered for how brightly it shone. By all its ancestors. By all its descendants. Not for any great deed, but for simply being there. His adventure-filled life would go unstoried. The Psion would be treasured for mediocrity.

It wasn't fair.

It was more than fair. He was undeserving. He was blind. He was deaf. He was without ancestors. Without descendants. Without a past or future. He was nothing more than a misguided ape living through the present.

Ikharos snarled and batted away the foreign thoughts. His dancing partner tensed up and fell back, taken off guard.

His daring orbit had earned him some skill in mind-dances. A sliver of star-brightness. A shred of sight. A touch of-

_GET OUT_

The Psion promptly left him be.

One remained. And, given how he could still hear himself think, he imagined it had to be the Flayer that waited for last. He shut his eyes and prepared as best he could for the tidal wave of psychic energy.

Nothing. Not immediately in any case. When something did reach out, Ikharos flinched out of sheer anticipation, but it was... weak. A wispy tendril of errant thought. Little more than a token effort.

Then it struck. A knife full of white-hot heat jammed into his nullscape and twisted, twisted, twisted, trying to pry him open. Ikharos fought back, but it was wrong, it was wrong, it was so very wrong, the attack was hollow of rich thought, there was only malice. His defenses buckled and curled out like an oyster shell. The knife cracked under the necessary effort. Thoughts spilled out between them unbidden. And they _understood_ one another.

Nothing frightened him more. Because, in that moment, he saw her. And she him. He tried to call out, but it was just them. No Xiān, no Uluru, no one else but the two of them in a bastardized, unwilling metaconcert devoid of all the heartfelt things it was meant for. _They_ weren't meant for it. It wasn't natural for them to connect. His soul and Light thrashed around inside him, yearning for the chance to rip her apart.

Ikharos physically trembled and-

* * *

_She was on an arid island that might as well have been verdant and bountiful for all the love she held for it. ("Your city is small and broken and beautiful and waiting to be eaten.")_

_She was surrounded by the family to whom she had to say her farewells. ("Your kin are killers they are L O S T.")_

_She wielded her mind like a weapon. ("You wield your Light like a crutch.")_

_Her foes were opportunities. ("Your enemies have matured you.")_

_She rose up through the ranks, a prodigy of infiltration. ("Your resolutions lend you strength, and strength lends you favour. Even the quietest voice can be heard, if it carries favourable weight.")_

_She broke away. Found a kindly, truthful mentor. One who would teach her and her family. ("You watched a Prince die.")_

_She swore to her purpose, known to her at last. She was not alone. There were others like her. Comfortingly close. ("You slew a King! How? HOW?!")_

_She was- ("Enough! This is behind us! Forget all you've seen!")_

* * *

-sucked in great gulps of stale air. All was quiet. He sought the Flayer out, and when he found her he narrowed his eyes. Something was missing. A blank spot in his memory stretching only a few milliseconds wide, but it was there. She'd extricated herself from his mind and taken whatever had happened with her.

He couldn't remember what he saw. Not a shred. It was disconcerting.

"You'll kill the Hive?" The Flayer urgently pressed.

Their clueless audience muttered amongst themselves.

"I will." Ikharos narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

The Flayer dipped her head. "I am Neuroc, of the Worldbreakers Legion. And you are Ikharos, of the Warlock Tribe."

"You saw me?"

"Partially."

He didn't like that. Not even a little.

The Uluru leader roused himself. "What are you talking about?"

Neuroc's eye glowed with summoned thoughts and intricate emotion. "The human has an offer for us, Zhonoch sir."

Ikharos reluctantly shifted to face the… Centurion? Gladiator? Something along those lines. "Your Psions will relay my honesty. I have questions to ask. You have needs to be met. Surely we can come to a compromise."

**000**

On the wide, sandy, psionically-conjured plains of Brand, Invoctol allowed the warm waters of the Miitzal ocean to lap at his feet. To his left, he could see the cluster of low-hanging cottages where each of his parts had been born. The salty tang of seawater mixed pleasantly with the sweet aroma of delicate sand-flowers.

He was _home_.

Invoctol separated. Three Psions occupied the space where there had been one. Only in the mind was this possible, for their metaconcert had been rendered permanent by the binding of bodily form.

"I've missed this," Orche strolled to the water's edge and dipped his fingers in.

Cadon grunted, unimpressed. The battlefield was all the home he needed.

Tlac couldn't look away from the small village. He saw no one milling about. No one out catching fish and crabs. No one harvesting the flax and cotton to weave into soft cloths. Cloths to soak into a warm spring and lay upon the head and will one's ancestors back into mind.

"I missed this as well," Tlac whispered. Oh, to feel his ancestors' embrace once more...

His brothers - one older and one younger - each place a hand on his shoulders. Their grip was light. Comforting. Protective and supportive. With a tender smile, Tlac turned about and they pressed their heads together.

Invoctol formed once more. He was unified. He was at peace with each part of himself, even in mourning.

And he missed home.

* * *

The humans were agitated. Or so his Psions reported. They chafed under Cabal rule. Invoctol felt no remorse; they could chafe or they could crumble. The choice was theirs. But he was confident they would make the right choice. The boy knew what options they had, and the other humans looked to the boy for leadership.

The boy came by again, this time of his own accord. Invoctol tried to be surprised by the sight of the human returning to his camp, but how could he be surprised when he'd already mapped out all the possible thought-routes of the human's mind?

The human stared up at him. There was fear, there was apprehension, but it was all shadowed over by his bravery and purposefulness. He even managed to impress Shu'av into stopping to listen to what he had to say.

Invoctol's bond-brother huffed and crossed his bulging arms. "Are you going to war, smallman?"

Roran ignored him. "Can I get her back?"

"Your beloved." Invoctol's voice was cutting to the human. Unintentional. But not unnecessary. He didn't soften it by any margin.

"Yes."

"Katrina is her name."

Roran flinched. "Yes."

Invoctol gestured him forwards. The human shuffled. "What do you believe?"

"That I have to get her back. The Ra'zac are monsters."

"And you know monsters, child?"

The human lifted his chin. "I am not-"

"A child? But you are by Uluru standards. Certainly by Psions, my people. Fret not, you will catch on. I see how your future unravels." Invoctol leaned down. "What did I ask of you?"

"Everything."

"Indeed. Everything. What do you think that entails?"

"All that I own."

"No. All that you cling to."

He was lost. Invoctol saw it. "But those-"

"Are not the same thing, human. Keep up. You own baubles. You own a ruined farm. You own a meagre inheritance. You own nothing but the clothes on your back and the hammer at your belt. But you _have_ soul. You _have_ strength. You _have_ dreams. Those are more valuable to me than all the glittering gold on this world. Soul and strength and dreams." Invoctol waved to Shu'av. "Here, see. A peasant child once, now a Valus. Born to nothing, gave up everything, earned it all back."

"Bit harsh," Shu'av grumbled. Invocotol ignored him.

"And what will you give to win back your beloved Katrina?"

Roran's mind whirled. He was blunt and weak, but there was a formidable force behind his dogged determination. Invoctol saw it with crystal clear clarity. "... Everything."

Satisfied, Invoctol straightened up. "On the next local day, you will come by and report to Bracus Cre'aet and Specialist Ozmoc. If any feel as you do, bring them with you."

"Why?"

"We will show how powerful your everything can be when honed to an edge. Know this." Invoctol's eye flashed fiercely. His voice rebounded within the human's skull. "We are Cabal. We eat the mountains. We drink the seas." He glanced to one of his waiting retainers. The Centurion strode forward. "You will understand in time, human. Take this."

The Centurion proffered a bell of ivory and gold. Roran looked it over with a critical eye he couldn't control and found himself impressed with its quality. Invoctol saw it all from within the human's mind, amongst strands of short-sighted thoughts.

"What is this?" Roran demanded. It was almost a challenge. Shu'av growled lowly, but the human didn't back down.

Invoctol narrowed his eye. "It is a mark of a soldier. You have already spilled blood, even if not in support of the empire. It is your mark of honour. It is your mark of sacrifice. It is your everything. Cre'aet will explain all. Ozmoc will burn the meanings into your every waking thought."

Roran said no more. No nod, no salute, nothing. He turned about and marched back to his village.

"What was that?" Shu'av questioned. "What're humans going to do? They're too weak to be of any use."

Invoctol laughed softly. "That is just like you, to only think of the martial applications."

Shu'av shrugged. "It's what I am."

"Just as _this_ is what I am. There are subtler routes to conquest, my friend." He patted Shu'av's shoulder. "I have conquered entire souls on this day."

Shu'av nodded slowly. He caught on quickly. That was why Invoctol chose him as bond-brother. "You're a negotiator."

"I am the Primus. I am father to Worldbreakers and Soulrazers. I will see my children victorious with their honour, pride, and lives intact. We will see Torobatl again, brother. We will march back to the capital with bounty and reforged oaths of allegiance to the Princess Imperial. I swear this - to all my ancestors and yours."

"Victory or death." Shu'av slammed a fist against his cuirass. "By Acrius' gleam, I will march beside you and hoist your valor-marked arm up before the Primus-of-All-Legions herself. Glory to Soulrazer."

Invoctol's eye brightened with soft joy. "Glory to Soulrazer. Death to Hive."

His guards cheered. "Death to Hive!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to Nomad Blue for editing!
> 
> Season of the Chosen has been incredible lore-wise. Got a lot on Cabal society, so yippee. And I think Psions are up there as being my new favourite race.


End file.
